


The Girl with the Arrow Tattoo

by Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold (manka), manka



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bianca is an AI, Blood and Gore, Cadash-Centric (Dragon Age), Carta dwarves with hearts of gold, Domestic Violence, Dorian Pavus is a Good Friend, Eventual Minor The Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, F/M, Hawke is a BAMF, Hawke makes inappropriate jokes, Horror, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minor Fenris/Female Hawke (Dragon Age), Modern Thedas, Power Imbalance, Protective Varric Tethras, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Witchcraft, broken people are kind people, class struggles, impoverished people are exploited, these two lovable idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-27 12:24:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 47
Words: 261,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20045989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manka/pseuds/Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, https://archiveofourown.org/users/manka/pseuds/manka
Summary: Instead of burning the witches, Thedas thought it civilized itself by locking them up in dismal, dark prisons and preaching sermons about the wickedness of magic. And when war erupts, every weapon from guns to hexes are fair play. The Champion of Kirkwall, the one free witch in Southern Thedas, vanishes into thin air as war consumes Orlais and Ferelden. The Seekers will do anything to bring Hawke back, and if that means taking her best friend into custody...Varric Tethras didn't count on many things, but nobody saw Maria Cadash coming. The Carta thug from Ostwick keeps secrets of her own tight to her chest while stepping in as an unlikely unifying force in a world gone mad. The only question is whether the people who call her Herald can save her from the past that threatens to incinerate the woman who could save the world.





	1. The Wreckage

Varric Tethras was a businessman, but in a world gone mad, he was also the last one standing in the bombed out wreckage of Kirkwall. It reminded him, hauntingly, of the news footage he'd seen of Denerim what… ten years before? In the final days of the Ferelden civil war, Denerim bore the brunt of the carnage. Varric couldn't pull his eyes away from the disaster unfolding on screens all over Thedas then. 

He heard a helicopter far above the dark and gutted streets he slunk down and wondered if it was one of the same ones that hovered over Denerim during the final siege. Probably. Damn vultures.

As if in answer to his question, the device in his ear beeped and a sultry female voice answered. "THN 12 news helicopters. Lead reporter covering ongoing search for the Champion of Kirkwall. Twelve thousand followers on Twitter, average ratings of…" 

"You're a gem, Bianca." Varric muttered. The AI in his ear hummed as if content. 

"Shall I contact the Champion via secure channels and make her aware?" She asked politely. 

"Hawke knows, baby." Varric muttered. "Trust me."

He pulled his leather coat tighter against the winter wind. It still sliced right through him and made him wish, longingly, for the thicker coat he never got to chance to pull from the back of his closet. His building was rubble now, along with the pub he owned on the bottom floor and most of his worldly possessions. Varric Tethras. Storyteller, businessman, liar, information broker, and homeless vagrant. At least he wasn't out on the streets, thanks to Hawke. 

Hawke. Maker take her, that woman needed to get herself out of Kirkwall. She should have left days ago, the instant they knew the Seekers were coming. 

As if thoughts of Hawke summoned it, Varric heard the soft patter of four paws approaching. The shaggy black dog, easily as large as a dwarf, melted from the shadows of a nearby alley, nose up to scent for danger. Varric reached out his hand, letting the tips of his ice cold fingers touch warm muzzle. "Hey mutt. Where's your witch?" 

"Magical energy sensed in the vicinity." Bianca chimed in his ear. "Similar to magical signatures left by the Champion." 

The dog bumped his fingers, intelligent dark eyes flashing up to his before he wagged his tail and circled back towards the alley, looking back at Varric in subtle invitation. Varric could take a hint, and checking uneasily behind him, he slipped into the dark alley. 

Something dripped, a steady plop onto the pavement. From somewhere nearby, Varric heard the yowling of alley cats fighting. His eyes watered from the stench of garbage. Before he could allow his eyes to adjust, something bright burst to life in front of him.

A woman, small boned and petite with shaggy shoulder length black hair, held a lighter in one hand with a flame way larger than any zippo could hope to be. She was smiling, impish and delighted, but there were dark circles under her stunning blue eyes. "Varric." The woman sighed in relief, brandishing the lighter in one hand and a piece of chalk in the other. "I'd hug you, but…"

"Make sure nobody finds us first, gotcha." Varric nodded as Hawke tossed the white chalk into the air one handed, caught it on the downswing and immediately pressed it to the brick wall of the alley, drawing an elaborate square sigil with runes, dashed messily but functionally. 

When she was done, Hawke put the chalk in between her red lips and pressed her palm against the drawing. Behind him, Varric felt something groan and shift. When he looked over his shoulder, the street was gone, hidden from view by another brick wall that materialized out of nowhere, seamless and perfect. 

He'd watched her do this shit for years, but he never got used to it. The lighter doused itself and Hawke threw her arms around him, chalk still in place in her mouth. It made her mumbling hard to understand and he wearily pulled the chalk from her teeth with a halfhearted smile, patting her back awkwardly. "Try again, Hawke."

"That Seeker looked like a real bitch on the news, Varric." Hawke pulled away. "Did you tell her everything?"

Varric squeezed the human closer to his broad chest, to hell with the awkward angle. "Not everything, Hawke." 

He couldn't tell her where Hawke was and he pretended not to know the fate of the rest of their motley gang beyond Aveline, who at least  _ really _ didn't know where everyone was. If the Seeker knew how close the missing Champion really was…

"Don't know what she wants Hawke, but she's desperate for you like a templar jonesing for lyrium. You've gotta go to ground now. You should have left when your sister did." 

They sent Sunshine off to Starkhaven with Choir Boy, hoped his influence in his hometown could protect her. Daisy vanished into the swarms of Elven refugees, another poor downtrodden soul among hundreds in the Free Marches, and Rivaini slipped effortlessly into the sea. But Hawke, damn Hawke, wouldn't leave their lovable shithole. 

"Come with me and Fenris." Hawke ordered, scowling down at him. "Aveline hasn't done anything wrong, she didn't know… she didn't help Anders. We both did and I won't let you take the fall for me, Varric."

Hawke and Varric helped him get the supplies that blew the Chantry sky high and killed a hundred people, unknowingly, sure, but still. Varric hadn't been able to scrub the blood from his knuckles since. "Hawke, I'm not a witch. You have a giant target on your back and you know it."

She should never have been free, their Hawke. Witches like her were thrown into compounds like the gallows to endure their cursed existence in solitude so that everyone else could feel safe. As if, the author in him grumbled, safety wasn’t just a false construct. 

"You, Daisy, and Sunshine are the ones they'll blame." Varric guessed shrewdly. "It's convenient to burn the witch."

"Beth couldn't hurt a fly and Merrill is just a kitchen witch." Hawke scoffed irritably. 

"Except for the demon thing." Varric reminded her softly, patiently.

"Well, sometimes chicken soup turns into demons when ingredients get mixed up." Hawke snapped irritably, finally letting go of him and pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'll change you into a pocket watch and take you with me, Varric, so help me…"

"You make me a pocket watch and I'll never give you an accurate time the rest of your life." Varric joked. "Hawke, I can talk my way out of this. I can talk my way out of anything. Magic tongue, remember?"

Before Hawke could say anything else, she stopped, listening hard to the night. Varric heard it too, a motorcycle coming closer and closer. Hawke's shoulders relaxed and she snapped her fingers, the wall blocking the alley shimmering transparently in just enough time to reveal the dark bike spinning to a stop in front of the alley and the lanky figure slipping off it, pushing through the wall that let him through before solidifying. 

"Varric." Fenris greeted, pushing the hood of his sweatshirt down to reveal his tattooed face and startling shock of white hair. "The arrangements are made, it is simply a matter of when we choose to leave."

Unbeknownst to Fenris, Bianca chirped in Varric's ear. "Escape reasonable at this point in time, but decreasing statistical chance of success by the hour. The Champion is in danger."

Didn't he know it. Varric huffed out a sigh. "Now's a good time Broody, before they find Hawke." Varric encouraged. "The Seeker isn't playing around." 

Hawke stared at both of them, mutinous and  _ frightened  _ under her steely glare. She flicked the lighter again, but this time a ball of fire sparked to life above their head like a sun, revealing Hawke's favorite black trench coat over designer ripped jeans and scuffed old combat boots, her eyeliner smudged and her face flushed red. She began to dig through the messenger bag at her hip, sinking into a crouch as she pulled out a deck of cards.

"Fasta vass, Hawke, this is not the time." Fenris began impatiently. 

"I'm not leaving him in danger." Hawke reasoned. "Not if I know it's coming, so let me look. Give me just a…"

The cards fluttered like magic, like living breathing things between her hands, moths in the night as she shuffled them. These weren't playing cards, he knew, but something much more powerful. Only for Hawke, though. 

"I want to see the path ahead of this fine example of chest hair." Hawke murmured into the night. For a second, her blue eyes glowed with a power that put the flames above her head to shame. Then Hawke laid the first card on the dirty pavement and scowled. The card showed a wheel in motion, figures at the top and bottom clutching onto it.

"Where we are now." Fenris crossed his arms over his chest and glared in disapproval. "The wheel of fortune and us the fools at the bottom."

The next card Hawke flipped over was a woman wreathed in white holding a staff with the moon at her feet. Hawke pursed her lips thoughtfully. "The high priestess." 

"The Seeker wants to take me to the Divine to tell her what happened here." Varric revealed with a careless shrug. "Or maybe to see the chest hair for herself. I’ve heard it’s famous even in Orlais." 

"Where we are, where you're going, and what you'll face…" Hawke flipped over the next card. 

It was a tower, stark white against a dark background. The tower was crumbling, awash in flame and surrounded by lightning. 

"Cheery." Varric remarked astutely. "What's that mean, Hawke?"

"Chaos." She whispered, tracing the card with her finger. "That the tower will fall and we must let it, nothing can be done. But that perhaps something new will grow in its place."

As she spoke, Hawke was flipping another card. It landed beside the tower and she laughed, shaking her head in disbelief before looking up at Varric, raising an eyebrow.

Twined together on the final card were two figures embracing as if helpless to do anything else. Emblazoned across the bottom of the card were two words:

The Lovers.

What in Andraste…

"The Lovers represent meaningful personal connections." Bianca supplied helpfully, the AI scouring the internet to supply the information to his ear. "Typically expected to be romantic. In this spread, it would represent a final outcome."

"Oooh, is the computer jealous?" Hawke teased. 

"Would you like me to inform the Champion I am unable to express jealousy via secure message?" Bianca asked. 

"She's got nothing to be jealous of." Varric started smoothly. Fenris snorted in amusement and Hawke traced the card gently before flicking her blue eyes up to him, piercing him with a pointed smile. 

"Sure." Hawke grinned. "Whatever you say, Varric."

At least the Seeker didn't clap the cuffs on him. He could already picture the headlines screaming  **CHAMPION OF KIRKWALL STILL MISSING. FAMOUS AUTHOR AND BUSINESSMAN IN SEEKER CUSTODY** . It would look nice next to a photo of the Seeker shoving him into the black sedan with tinted windows. 

"Curly!" Varric greeted as he settled into the car cushions. "What are you in for?"

The former knight captain of the templars looked exhausted, a new scar on his lip, face rugged with stubble. "Mister Tethras." He greeted politely. 

"Cullen has volunteered to assist." The Seeker folded her long limbed form next to him, banging one fist onto the divider separating the driver from the backseat.

"Volunteered or  _ volunteered _ ?" Varric asked with a raised eyebrow. He was pretty sure Seeker Pentaghast thought Varric had volunteered as well. 

The Seeker scowled at him from under her jagged pixie bangs, jawline set in a hard line. "Volunteered." She snapped. Varric almost didn't hear her over the chime in his ear. He inclined his head to the side in acknowledgement of the notification. 

"Secure message from the Champion, Varric. Would you like me to deliver it?" Bianca asked. 

Varric nodded almost imperceptibly. Bianca continued. "Message states: flew the coop. Present in your journal. Be safe." 

Varric struggled not to roll his eyes, pulling his journal from his jacket pocket and flipping it open to the first blank page. He very nearly snorted in exasperation. There, Hawke's idea of a little joke, her tarot card placed like a bookmark.

Damn witch, he thought fondly as he moved The Lovers to the next page. She knew he was a shitty romance novelist and one AI kind of guy. Not much would happen to change that. 

“Should I send a secure message to Bianca Davri informing her of your travel plans?” The AI asked efficiently. 

Varric swallowed and shook his head just minutely to the side, a movement that caught the Seeker’s attention.

“What are you shaking your head about?” She demanded. 

“Can’t believe I’m leaving Kirkwall like this.” Varric lied easily, shrugging his shoulders and watching the ruined city whiz past the windows. “Should feel like a holiday, but it doesn’t. Must be you scowling at me.” 

xx

The bell on the bodega door signaled her arrival just before the store closed for the evening. Maria hated doing the rounds and put it off until very nearly the last minute. The old Rivaini man who ran the shop looked up from his magazine and froze while Maria slipped past all the shelves. 

"Evening Serah Tulme." She greeted with a small smile she hoped conveyed just enough apology to squeak through this last stop with her soul somewhat intact. "Thought I'd grab a coffee while I was here. Did you shut up the register yet?"

"No." The man straightened, stiff and wary, "No, but it isn't fresh. I'll make a new pot just a moment…" 

Maria waved her hand in the air to dismiss his concerns and smiled over her shoulder as she grabbed one of the foam cups. "Can't be worse than the shit I usually drink, serah. Don't bother with it."

He relaxed by a degree. "It's on the house then."

"Don't be ridiculous." Maria efficiently poured a cup of the liquid, which had an interesting sludge like consistency, then ripped open half a dozen sugar packets. "If you want to buy me a drink you'll have to take me somewhere nice than your bodega." 

He laughed in spite of himself. While her back was turned, he'd reached beneath the counter and pulled out an unobtrusive manilla envelope. He laid his fingers over it protectively as Maria approached and flipped her own silver coin onto the counter. "I… I am sorry, I cannot pay the full amount and still afford…" 

She knew he'd be short. Everyone was short, the economy was in the trash because of the war ranging across the south. Maria sipped at the bittersweet brew in her cheap foam cup, calm and thoughtful. "How short?"

The man took in a deep breath. "One hundred sovereigns. I know Dwyka will not understand, but perhaps you can…" 

Maker, she'd try. "It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. You know me better than that." Maria chided while she reached for the envelope, tucked it securely underneath her jacket. "I just… don't be shocked if someone else is back here in a few days wanting the rest. I'll try to…"

"I know you will." The man sighed wearily. "Thank you, Maria Cadash. I am… I am glad you are the one who came to collect." 

She wasn't. "Those idiot kids leaving you alone, Tulme? No more bricks through the windows?" 

"After you put the fear of Andraste herself into them with that trick?" Tulme grinned, shook his head. "Never saw anyone run so fast. At least this money buys us you, Serah. You look out for us." 

She tried, but she'd never be able to talk sense into Dwyka. He'd bleed these people dry and ask where his revenue went. "Have a good night, Tulme." Maria picked up the near fossilized coffee sludge. "Be safe."

She wasn't meant to hear Tulme repeat her words back to her retreating back, but she did. Maria pulled her phone from her pocket as she stepped out into the bitter cold night, used her bare fingers to read the blinking text message from Bea Cadash, her younger sister.

_ B - U coming tonight? Keep me entertained while I work.  _

Maria smiled to herself, sent a reply back immediately. 

_ M - Isn't your job to be entertaining? _ __   
_ B - Like I have to work at it _ __   
_ B - please come out  _ __   
_ B - u look like u need a drink _ __   
_ M - How do you know? _ _   
_ __ B - I know what day it is

Maria scowled at the last message, cursing her younger sister straight to the void and back. Finally, she sent one text back. 

_ M - Maybe. I'll catch you later. _

"You should go. She worries." 

The soft, gentle voice at her ear made her just about jump out of her skin. The damn kid could move like a ghost. 

"Cole, I told you to stop reading my texts over my shoulder." She huffed, hitting the button to hide her phone's glowing screen. 

"I wasn't!" He protested, as if Maria would believe him. 

Cole showed up near the beginning of the war, one of a score of refugees fleeing the religious upheaval in southern Thedas, or so she assumed. Honestly, she'd never gotten a clear answer about his origins, but she'd found him injured at the Ostwick docks while waiting for a shipment. Somehow, after she cleaned him up and let him sleep it off on her couch, the kid just moved in. 

He must have gotten hit with a witch's hex or a templar's smite, because he was certainly addled somehow. 

Maria's sister called him their feral brother. She wasn't entirely wrong. Still, she liked Cole, and he was attached to her nearly all the time. Spouting the kind of nonsense spilling from his lips at that very moment. "They like it when you collect, but you don't. You think you're hurting them, but if you didn't come he'd send someone else. Someone with bloody hands and bullets in their mouths." 

"That's poetic." Maria ambled away from the storefront and shot a look up at him from under her lashes. "What's in my mouth, then?" 

"A thousand words unsaid." Cole muttered.

Well, wasn't that the truth. She smirked and shook her head. "How do you know me so well, Cole?" 

"You're very loud." His brow furrowed under the knit cap pulled down low over his forehead, choppy bangs obscured his pale eyes. "Just not where everyone can hear." 

"You've got problems, Dwyka." Maria slunk into the smoky apartment, past the dead eyed man at the door. She pulled envelopes from inside her jacket, throwing them on the counter in disgust. Dwyka was at the scarred old kitchen table, a fistful of cards in his hands and a motley crew of various other degenerates surrounding him. 

"Isn't that why I keep you around, Cadash?" He grumbled, thumbing the cards with his thick sausage fingers. He had a bad hand, then. "What's your fucking issue tonight?"

"If you keep bleeding businesses dry with your protection racket, you're not going to have anyone left to fund your lifestyle." She advised bluntly, hoisting herself up onto the counter so she could peer down at their game. She was rarely invited to play herself, Dwyka didn't like to be shown up. 

"That's what you get for letting a bitch collect." Someone growled. "Too soft." 

Maria didn't look away from Dwyka or acknowledge the comment. "You can't expect to keep making the same amount with the world gone to shit. Everyone needs to live a little leaner." 

"You offering to pay the short out of your cut, Cadash?" Dwyka asked dangerously. "Or should I send someone without a bleedin' heart out tomorrow?"

Andraste's saggy tits, Bea would be pissed. She ran some quick numbers in her head as she thought, struggled to balance the rent and food budgets. She shrugged nonchalantly as she finished the numbers. "Why not?"

Someone laughed mockingly and Dwyka grinned. "Have it your way, Saint Cadash." 

Well, at least Tulme’s kids wouldn't be scared out of their wits. Maria could probably drop by one of the lounges and make up some of the shortfall playing Wicked Grace so Bea wouldn't have to sacrifice as much. Sometimes Cole even came through with some cash when things got tight. 

Maria went to slip from the counter, but Dwyka's gaze pinned her in place. "You'll stay tonight."

It wasn't a question, but she'd try anyway. Maker, she’d try. "My sister wanted me at the club."

"Fuck your sister." Dwyka sneered, folding his hand in defeat. 

"I'd like to." Another man muttered. It was nearly enough to make Maria bite her lip. 

Maria hardened her heart, pulled her phone out of her pocket as the money in front of her changed hands and the men picked up their conversation as if she wasn't there. She sent one text. 

_ M - Not tonight. See you in the morning. _

A shame, she could have used that drink. She swung her ratty old backpack from her shoulder and dug around in it, pulling out a battered old copy of Hard in Hightown and leaning against the cupboard behind her.

The last member of the gang trickled out while she was in the middle of her favorite chapter, the big reveal that Donnen was betrayed by his former partner. Dwyka grunted as he approached, plucking the paperback from her hand and slamming it shut on the counter. Maria raised an eyebrow calmly. "You're lucky I'll find my place without a bookmark."

"You know better than to criticize me in front of my boys, Cadash." Dwyka growled, pinching her chin between his fat fingers. She could smell old tobacco on his fingertips. 

"I wasn't criticizing you." She stared him down evenly. "I was informing you of the situation." 

She expected him to slap her, but he did something worse, chuckling and running his knuckles slowly down her cheek. "Lucky you're a looker, Cadash. Otherwise you'd be more trouble than you're worth."

He released her, waving at her to follow him as he slipped into the bedroom. Maria left her book and her bag on the counter with a heavy heart. Dwyka was already pulling his shirt off. "Need you to go to Ferelden."

"Sure." She laughed, a hard hollow sound that rung in the room like a ghost rattling chains. "Heard it's lovely this time of year what with the witches fighting the templars and all the death and starvation."

"I've got a shipment of lyrium sitting at Jader and nobody has the stones to get it to either of the skirts." Dwyka muttered. "Losing money every day, but you could do it."

"I'm not suicidal enough to try it." Maria answered immediately. "I'll stay here. Thanks."

Dwyka turned his hard greedy eyes to her with a murderous grin. "We could send your whore sister, I guess. Maybe she could sleep her way to the peace talks." 

Something icy ran down Maria's spine, but she didn't blink. "Wouldn't be very efficient." She remarked casually. 

Nothing made him angrier than her flippant attitude. She saw his eyes go hard and flat, then he was on her, his fingers digging into her braided hair and wrenching her head to the side. Sharp pricks of pain brought tears to her eyes without her permission and his beer soaked breath was against her skin, filthy enough to make her wish she could take a hundred baths. "I own you, Cadash." He snarled, tightened his fingers until a small, pained gasp slipped from her mouth. "And when I tell you to do something, all I want to hear out of those pretty lips is 'yes, Dwyka,' am I clear?" 

She had a gun tucked into the waistband of her jeans and she could reach it, put it right to his matted beard and pull the trigger. It would be easy, it would be  _ over _ . Finally, blissfully over. 

Bea would be alone, though. And as always, that thought stayed her hand. 

"Yes Dwyka." She spoke through gritted teeth, choked back all rage and pain. A thousand words crammed down her throat until she suffocated on them. 

"Good girl." He turned gentle in an instant, smoothing her hair and bringing his pale, bloodless lips to her cheek. "Get on the bed, Maria." 

She never slept well at Dwyka's on the rare occasions she slept at all. But it meant that as soon as the sun came up, she was free to slip out into the dawn. She wasn't surprised that Cole waited outside, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands while he shifted anxiously beneath the rusted awning. He held it out to her trembling fingers. 

She had three unread messages on her phone from Bea, but she couldn't bring herself to read them. She accepted the coffee gratefully, quietly. 

"I don't like how he touches you." Cole whispered. 

Neither did she, but it didn't matter. "Thank you for the coffee."

Her phone dinged again. Maria ignored it, but Cole nodded to himself. "She waited up. We should go home." 

Maria couldn't ever go home, not really, not anymore, but it wasn't worth saying. "We should." She answered dully instead. She needed to pack, after all. 


	2. The Fallen Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria Cadash doesn't think before answering a cry for help in the dark.   
Varric Tethras didn't expect Hawke's tarot card to be so literal.

The tension simmered in the air, making it crackle with heat despite the ice clinging to every surface. Maria's breath came in great clouds illuminated by the street lights above her. 

She hadn't found a way to get the lyrium into the small town turned refugee camp turned holy peace talk site. The Divine seemed to have found a small, dedicated band of security, all wearing the burning eye of Andraste on their shoulders like badges of honor. They stood vigilant at every entrance to town confiscating both weapons and an astonishing variety of magical artifacts. She saw a bin full of switchblades, guns, rings, amulets, pencils and pens, cell phones, sunglasses, pins… 

One had to admire the resourcefulness of witches and warlocks on the run. Who would think to fight a big ass templar with a cell phone and a pin, no matter how fucking enchanted it was? 

Of course, that meant when she slipped in with the refugees, she also had to enter unarmed. Cole, thank the Maker, refused to stay in Ostwick with Bea. He stayed at a shitty motel off the highway with the lyrium and Maria's own stash of weapons and black market enchanted items while she hitched her way up to Haven. 

She hadn't been prepared for the cold or for the long wait to get inside. By the time she slipped through security with a fake name and a sob story about witches mugging her on the road, it was nearly evening. She wouldn't be making it back to Cole until the morning. Hopefully she could find somewhere warm to bunk down for at least a little while, she didn't have enough cash for a room but the thought of spending the whole night in the biting cold wind…

She needed a thicker coat, the baggy old bomber jacket she wore had seen better days before she even bought it from her favorite thrift shop and the soles of her old boots were worn thin. Neither would do much to keep her fingers or toes from falling off. At least she looked like a refugee with nothing but the clothes on her back, she thought. It was a darkly amusing thought and really, she could laugh or she would cry. 

Dwyka's buyer, when she found him, offered her a place to stay with a cold, hungry grin that reminded her of staring down a wolf's dripping maw. He promised a decent meal too, better than the sugar-free gum she chewed to distract from how hungry she actually was.

Maria would rather be hungry and cold. 

"You look like you're freezing." A soft masculine voice called from one of the doorways. A tall human had his hands clasped in front of him as he surveyed her. "Do you have somewhere to stay?"

He sounded concerned, almost gentle, which eased the sudden warning itch on her shoulder. Still, she pulled Cole's cap further down to obscure as much of her bright hair as possible. The man held himself like a templar, even leaning against the door frame, but he had that badge on his left sleeve. 

"I haven't found one yet, but if you've got a proposition handsome, I've gotten worse offers tonight." She wouldn't actually do it, but even going in and flirting for a bit to stave off the chill… 

"Maker's breath!" She couldn't see his face well, but she got the impression he was blushing as he ducked his head and rubbed briskly at the back of his neck. "Andraste, no, I… we just got in ourselves and there's no room here, but they're keeping the temple open all night. Some of the refugees are sleeping there until… until they’re…” 

Forgotten, she thought coldly. Ushered out into the cold and told to return to homes torn asunder in someone else’s war. Who would take responsibility for feeding them, clothing them, healing their illnesses or educating their children? 

They said the thirst for justice started this whole war, but there wasn’t any justice for the poor and downtrodden of Thedas. Maria knew had that lesson inscribed on her heart like a brand. 

“Are you hungry?” The man offered, not unkindly. “You can come in if you’d like and…” 

“No thank you.” Maria allowed herself a small smile, one intended to disarm and redirect. “You’ve been very helpful.” A night without dinner wouldn’t kill her, but the cold could. Without another thought, she turned and began the climb to the fabled ancient temple, the one they said housed Andraste’s ashes once upon a time. 

It was quiet while she climbed the steps, a strange thick quiet that muffled the world around her. The lights from the town below seemed to fade, the stars shined brighter. Everything seemed too still, too perfect, as if the entire continent balanced precariously on the edge of a knife right before disaster. 

One of her card castles the moment before Bea laughed and toppled it with a flick of her manicured fingers. 

The guards on duty opened the door for her with smiles that were both helpful and serious, pointing to the left. “Down the hall and take the steps, miss. They’ve got blankets down there for you.” 

She nodded quietly, hunching her shoulders as the door shut behind her with a definitive click. Almost as soon as the latch fastened, she heard them resume their quiet conversation. “Nightingale says the Divine plans to hold a vigil all night and pray for guidance.” 

“Hope she finds it.” The other voice answered wearily. “Can’t keep this up much longer, can we?” 

“Have faith.” 

“I’m trying.” 

It was almost stifling warm inside the old church, but Maria didn’t take the cap off her head. Instead, she craned her head up to look at the constellations dashed onto the ceiling by an artist hundreds of years dead. She wondered if she’d ever stood in something so old before, mind reeling as she tried to fathom how many footsteps echoed in these halls before her scuffed combat boots traipsed past the silent statues of martyrs. 

Wasn’t there a book about this place? By Genetivi, she thought. She wondered if she could find a copy cheap in Ostwick when she got back. She needed something new to read anyway. She peered at the beautiful, elegant frescoes illuminated by faint light as she walked, bypassing the stairs she’d been directed to and continuing to hungrily examine the scenes from the Chant. Andraste singing and drawing the Maker’s attention in a field of beautiful flowers, her vision of his grace, her husband glaring down at her jealousy as the people sang her praises on the Valerian Fields… 

The shout dragged her from her reverie, startled her into flinching. The hair rose on the back of her neck as if someone stood behind her maliciously. She half expected a switchblade across her throat. She froze, listened to the ominous silence. 

"Someone! Help me!" 

An old woman's voice, accented, Orlesian. Her cry pierced the holy silence like a shotgun blast, and yet Maria heard no other footsteps beyond her own, moving quickly into the darkness to the door with the eerie, flickering light emanating from underneath it. 

Maria didn't think. She simply placed her palms flat against the heavy wood and shoved as hard as she could. 

xx

"You alright Curly?" Varric looked up from his thin tablet computer to take in the man's flushed cheeks. Varric thought it was simply the freezing air until the former knight captain ran an aggravated hand through his hair. 

"That woman thought I was propositioning her!" He exclaimed, blushing even more furiously. Varric immediately sat the tablet down, much more fascinated by Cullen's reddened cheeks. 

"Commander! I didn't think you had it in you." He tucked both his hands behind his head and kicked back, rocking precariously in the spindly wooden chair. 

"I… I simply offered…" Cullen stammered. "Maker's breath, dwarven women always look so…  _ small. _ "

"Well now I'm even more interested, Curly." Varric grinned widely. "Tell me all about this dwarven damsel whose honor you offended and then point me in her general direction so I can make up for your deficits." 

Cullen simply sighed in defeat and rubbed the bridge of his nose briskly with his hand. Before Varric could continue to interrogate the poor bastard, the stairs behind him creaked under heavy booted feet. "I'm going to try to get some rest. Most holy and I can debrief after her vigil in the morning." Cassandra muttered. 

"I think I will return to the temple myself." The left hand of the divine moved like a shadow at Cassandra's side. "Perhaps prayer will also help clear my mind and allow me to extend compassion as Divine Justinia does to our enemies." 

"If someone needs to learn how to extend compassion, I think you should take the Seeker with you." Varric grumbled under his breath. He had a wicked bruise on his shoulder attesting to a distinct lack of kindness. 

"What was that, dwarf?" Cassandra's voice barely concealed the threat. Varric sighed and readied himself to repeat the statement. Let no one say he allowed the woman who dragged him by the chest hair out of Kirkwall to get off easy.

He was opening his mouth when his tablet screen shuddered, wavy black and white lines like old TV static obscuring the article he was reading on the Divine's colorful past. 

His brow furrowed, but he continued to speak. "Well Seeker, I said…"

The ever present earbud that carried Bianca's voice directly to him in the most sensitive situations screeched, a sound like nails on a chalkboard. Immediately, he flinched and brought his palm up this ear, ripping the device away from his sensitive eardrum. "Shit!" He swore, standing so quickly he knocked the tablet with the wonky screen right off the old wooden table. "Fuck,  _ fuck. _ "

"What is…" 

This had happened once before. Just once. He'd been standing behind Hawke then, she'd been wearing that red dress that laced up the sides, the one Broody couldn't tear his eyes away from when she donned it. The elf's arm had been linked through Hawke's and she'd pulled away just before, grabbing the collar of the unkempt man in the ripped coat with one fist. Varric’s friend, Hawke’s friend. 

_ "Anders, what have you done?" _

Then, before the warlock could even answer, his earbud had screeched and he'd ripped it out of his ear, swearing and cursing and then…

Then…

"Seeker, you've got problems." A part of him scrambled, there was a way this time. He knew what it meant, maybe they had time. There had to be a way out, a way to… 

There had to be. 

"She only does that when…" 

He didn't even have time to finish. There was no chance to plan, to save the situation. The explosion happened first, a rumble that started low and seconds later was a cacophony of sound, like Titans below the ground pushing up to reclaim Thedas from the assholes who ruined it. The lights flickered once. Twice. Then the house the Seeker appropriated was plunged into darkness.

The only light was the white logo of the tablet rebooting, an eerie glow under the table. There was a shattering moment of perfect silence. Then the first shrill, piercing scream echoing against the buildings, followed by a second, a third. If he heard Bethany start sobbing, it would be that fatal day in Kirkwall all over again. 

"Stay here!" The Seeker ordered, pushing past him with Cullen on her heels. The Nightingale flew after them, leaving Varric alone with a rising sea of dread. He cautiously slipped the earbud back into place as he approached the front door, palm flat against the solid wood as he shoved it. 

He almost wished he hadn’t. The entire town was pitch black, illuminated only by the dimmest of stars shining above them. Except, on second look, an entire section of the stars were blurred out, missing from the night sky, hidden behind a raging, twisting pillar of… something. Smoke? 

His earpiece beeped. “Technical malfunction due to large expenditure of magic energy in the vicinity. All communications systems linking Haven to Thedas appear to be disrupted, forcing me to use the backup satellite link, but service with the satellite also appears endangered due to the vortex.” 

“Is that what I’m looking at?” Varric reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulling out a pair of nondescript silver rimmed glasses, the kind many of his peers wore in business meetings to make themselves look smarter. He slipped them onto his nose and pressed the clever button to the right of the frame. 

“I am unable to access the feed from your glasses due to wireless connectivity issues, Varric.” If an AI could sound exasperated, Bianca pulled it off pretty well. “Judging from your current GPS location, it is statistically probable that you can see the vortex. From satellite footage...”

From space, he thought with a chill. Bianca could fucking see it from  _ space _ . “It appears that the vortex is unexplained and most likely the creation of a witch or warlock acting against the peace talks. I would suggest attempting to use the filter the Champion assisted with designing?” 

_ That _ filter always gave him a damn headache. No market value in it, he complained when Hawke suggested it. Yes, through a combination of delicate runes and a bit of a solar powered charge, he could use it to see the world like Hawke did for a limited period of time. 

It also made him want to rip out of his eyeballs and explained why all of the witches and warlocks he knew, with the sole exception of Bethany, were fucking insane. 

Still, he couldn’t argue with Bianca. He tapped on another clever little button and blinked twice as the lens began to flicker with a shimmery layer of magic, revealing a whole new level of hell. 

The vortex through his lens was no longer a towering pillar of roaring black smoke, but a stack of green flame reaching to the heavens. Splitting off from it were howling invisible creatures, falling in fiery balls of energy to the ground below. 

It was a damned black hole to the other side, to the place where witches called their familiars and demons from. “Oh baby, we have problems…” 

“I am still unable to access the video feed from the lenses.” Bianca reminded him. “Your statistical chance of dying because I am unable to access potentially relevant information is growing.” 

He wasn’t sure there was an AI clever enough to pull him out of this one, but he wouldn’t dare tell his baby that growing suspicion. “Bianca, I need you to send an emergency message to Bianca Davri and Hawke.” He muttered, ducking back inside. He popped the lid of the suitcase the Seeker watched him pack while she glowered over him. 

She hadn’t thought to search the suitcase before he started packing and nobody dared search the Seeker’s prisoner. Thank Andraste’s blushing asscheeks that Varric liked to be prepared. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Varric.” Bianca offered. Varric wasn’t sure he’d  _ ever _ be ready to send this message. 

“Tell them to stay where they fucking are. And don’t auto-correct my cursing.” He ordered tersely. “Tell them…” 

Goodbye? That he loved them both in such wonderful, different, complicated ways? No, he couldn’t send the same message to both of them. They’d be pissed if they ever thought to get together and compare notes. “Tell Bianca Davri I’ll see her in Rivain someday.” 

She’d understand. She’d know what he meant. 

“And the Champion?” Bianca asked. 

“Tell Hawke her damn tower came crashing down.” Because of course it did, when were Hawke’s damn cards ever wrong? They weren’t usually quite so literal, but sometimes, the universe lined up as if to give Hawke every portent of doom she ordered on a silver platter. “Tell her she owes me a damn pint.” 

Varric’s hand closed on the thin leather case hidden in the lining and he nearly ripped it free, scattering the rest of the contents of the case as he unrolled the elegant rifle with the runes lining the barrel. 

“Bianca, I need a map of Haven and access to any security systems still online.” 

“One moment.” Bianca began smoothly. Varric reached back into the lining for the bullets, fingers brushing a thick, slick playing card as he dug for them. Impatiently, he grabbed for it to shove it with the rest of the cards, except…

As if mocking him, The Lovers stared up. Varric grunted in disgust and threw it back down. 

“Seeker, I must have misheard you.” Varric jabbed his rifle up towards the place where the Temple of Sacred Ashes once stood. In the eerie dawn light, Varric could see the inky pillar of darkness clearly. If he put his damn glasses back on, he’d see all the demons flocking out of it like they were late for happy hour. And surrounding all of it, floating in midair, pieces of what used to be the temple forever frozen and suspended in some kind of nightmare. “Because there is no way someone walked out of that.” 

The Seeker scowled pointedly at his weapon, but didn’t ask where he got it. She wasn’t in any position to turn down help, he saw what they carried down from the mountain. Corpses of soldiers, templars, witches, warlocks, bystanders, refugees. Some drained of blood, others sliced cleanly in half by claws they didn’t see until they were covered in their own guts.

Maker’s ass, Varric didn’t know how  _ any _ of them were going to get out of this. They packed the remaining innocents in cellars and hoped for the best, but there wouldn’t be anywhere to even run if they didn’t stop whatever the fuck was happening.

“She… she stepped out of the pillar.” Cassandra lips twisted. “Reportedly. I did not witness it myself.” 

“She’s a witch?” Varric asked, cursing Anders to the ninth circle of hell. 

“No.” Cassandra glared down at him. “She’s a dwarf.” 

Oh  _ great _ . Somehow, that was going to be his fault. Cassandra looked like she’d had it up to her ferocious eyebrows with dwarves in general. “Seeker, we don’t all know each other. That’s racist.” 

He was being facetious, but she didn’t need to know that.. The dwarven population in Thedas was a small enough group that if he traced the lines, he’d find he knew this dwarf somehow through business or family. 

“Also,” He continued blithely. “If she’s a dwarf, there’s no way she’s responsible for this. Dwarves can’t do magic Seeker, whatever the fuck that is, it’s magic.” 

“That remains to be seen. She could be a demon, or possessed by one.” Cassandra snarled. “She could be working for the person responsible. She was certainly involved.” 

“How do you know?” He asked, exasperated. Cassandra frowned, finally looking a bit unsure of herself.

“Perhaps… perhaps it is easier to show you. I ask that you inform us if you recognize her or can help identify her, but it may be folly regardless. She is not expected to live the day.” Cassandra admitted wearily. 

Of course she wasn’t, Varric thought with a pang of sympathy. Who could survive being at the center of that?

Cassandra led him back through the frightened, silent streets of the town, stopping at the little chantry and leading him through the main nave, back into a smaller office, a private chapel for the Mother in residence, perhaps. 

Leliana was there already, scouts scattering as she gave brisk orders. Cassandra ignored her, beckoning Varric over to the figure curled in on herself, laying on what he was fairly certain was an altar. She looked half blood magic sacrifice, particularly with her hands cuffed in front of her waist. 

It didn’t help that she shook as if she was freezing, despite the warm air. And, Varric couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as if she was flickering between solidness and transparency, too quickly to tell, but… 

“She appears to be fading in and out of our plane of existence.” Cassandra stated bluntly. “An aftereffect of the magic. One of the warlocks who stayed to help says he believes it will kill her, that it is ripping her body apart atom by atom.” 

Cullen was right, Varric thought despondently. Maybe not about all dwarves, but this woman looked so very small. 

“Is that necessary if she’s dying?” Varric asked, irritated, waving to the cuffs. Cassandra nodded, grim and determined. Varric sighed, taking a step forward and gently turning the woman onto her back. She didn’t respond, didn’t wake or move, didn’t acknowledge him at all. Her eyes fluttered though beneath her eyelids, as if she was in the middle of a nightmare. Hell, they all were.

She had the brightest red hair he’d ever seen, falling to her shoulders from underneath a thick woolen cap pulled down her forehead. It was the color of cherry candy, of bright fall apples. It had to be dyed, that color didn’t just naturally occur, but judging from her threadbare coat and boots worn thin… well, this wasn’t a woman who had money to spend on a salon. 

He remembered Hawke’s coat had been that threadbare when he first met her and two sizes too large on her skinny frame. She constantly kept pushing it up from her wrists where it dangled to her fingertips, giving her the appearance of a child in her father’s clothing. 

There was nothing childlike about this woman beyond her size and the fragility of her health. She had curves built to bring a man willingly to his knees, pink lips made for teasing kisses, an adorable splatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose softening her sinful appearance just enough to blend her into the crowd. But her fingernails were chewed down short, a nervous habit he assumed. And there was something weary about her, even in repose. 

Still, she was alluring, a fairytale princess trapped in enchanted sleep. 

Maker, he must be tired if he was getting that damn sentimental. 

“I swear, I’d remember her face if I saw it before.” Varric tore his eyes away, back up to the Seeker. “Personal effects?” 

“Nothing beyond a cell phone. It… did not survive the explosion. It was smoking when it was pulled from her pocket, the screen cracked, parts of it melting.” Cassandra pressed her lips into a thin line. “She is a ghost.’ 

“You can take fingerprints, run them if…” He nearly slipped and said ‘if Bianca gets communications up’, but he didn’t quite want to give away the little ace in his ear. Cassandra shook her head.

“We have no way to check them. We are isolated, cell phone communication is lost. Internet access is gone.” Cassandra scowled. “If we knew what she was doing here…” 

Varric had an idea, but the Seeker wasn’t going to like it. “Did you check for gang tats?” 

“You believe she is with a gang.” Cassandra grimaced. “A criminal, then.” 

There was a world of difference between ‘criminal’ and ‘magical terrorist’, but Varric wasn’t going to argue “There was one on her left wrist.” Cassandra continued. “I saw when I cuffed her. I did not recognize it as a gang symbol, but perhaps you will.”

Varric ignored the jibe and gently rolled up up the sleeve of her coat, exposing the simple tattoo. It was an arrow, the point directed towards her fingers, the end trailing a few inches up her skin. It was in black ink, with two sets of letters. One set, above the shaft closer to the point spelled out FD. The one on the bottom, closer to the feathers, said MC. 

“That’s a lovers tattoo.” Varric sighed, tugged the sleeve back down. “I can guess she’s either FD or MC, but it’s not a solid lead.” 

Stupid thing, to get a tattoo with a lover’s initials. A youthful, silly indiscretion belonging, he suspected, to a more carefree version of this woman lost many years ago. He wondered what happened to her youthful fancy, if he or she still carried around this woman’s initials. 

“Uncuff her so I can take off her jacket.” Varric ordered tersely, but the Seeker wasn’t paying attention. She’d been waved over by Leliana, leaving Varric alone with their sleeping survivor. He reached into his jacket, again, pulled out a fine set of lockpicks and quickly popped the cuffs off, dropping them on the altar before shooting the sleeping woman’s face an apologetic look. 

“Sorry, Princess.” He didn’t know why he called her that, but it suited and he kind of liked it. Sleeping beauty in a nightmare world. “I’m a gentleman, promise.” Although, he wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t think, just for a brief second, about undoing her jacket in a cozier, more private way. He quashed the errant thought like a stray spark, shook his head. 

He slowly tugged both sleeves off, revealing the soft, worn cotton shirt underneath. It hugged her figure, but was cut low around her shoulders. Thank the Maker, he didn’t want to make this more awkward than it had to be. If she had a gang tattoo, Varric had a couple reasonable guesses where it would be. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need to try taking off her pants. If it came to that, the more reasonable thing might be to let the Seeker strip her. 

Gently, he rolled her onto her side again, pulling up her shirt from the jeans she wore just enough to examine her lower back. Nothing, but he thought he saw… 

He let the cloth drop back and changed his focus, shifting the neckline of the shirt to the right, ignoring the creamy pale skin dotted with freckles, revealing a plain black bra strap and a hint of spiraling ink. He pulled the shirt away again, just enough to reveal the three black intersecting triangles of the Carta, the letters OW in the center. It decorated the back of her right shoulder like a brand.

“How did you get her shackles off?” Cassandra demanded as Varric smoothed the shirt back over her skin with a sinking feeling. 

“They fell off.” He grumbled, jerking his chin at the sleeping woman. “She’s Carta, from Ostwick.” 

The Carta in Ostwick was a mean bunch, ran by that bastard Dwyka for… what, six years? They had a chokehold on that whole section of the free marches, weren’t afraid of getting their hands bloody. 

His sleeping princess didn’t look like a woman with bloody hands, but neither did his former favorite blonde healer. “You may want to get those back on her.” The words felt like ashes in his mouth, but they needed to be said. “Just in case.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it a meet cute if one of the parties isn't conscious?


	3. The Ascent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The climb to the Temple of Sacred Ashes is both dangerous and revealing.

_ Feel it coming in the air _   
_ Hear the screams from everywhere _   
_ I'm addicted to the thrill _   
_ It's a dangerous love affair _   
_ Can't be scared when it goes down _   
_ Got a problem, tell me now _   
_ The only thing that's on my mind _ _   
Is who gonna run this town tonight_

The room smelled like the hospital. Stringent cleaning chemicals, antiseptic gel, and the sweetly rotten smell of impending death. 

It smelled like the room her grandmother died in, but Zarra Cadash had been buried for ten years, at home in the stone cairns of the ancestors she revered so much, next to the tombs housing both Maria's father and mother. 

She took a deep breath, forced her eyes open again. She sat on a small table in a claustrophobic room, hands cuffed in front of her. There were soldiers at the door to prevent her from leaving, she assumed. 

As if that was a possibility. 

Her heart skipped another alarming beat in her chest, her vision swam, and the color began to seep out of the room again. Tears stung her eyes unbidden as a sharp spike of pain dug into her temple like an ice pick threatening to lobotomize her. She choked on a whimper, biting her lip so tightly she tasted the iron of her own blood.

When she asked one of the soldiers what had happened to her, they didn't answer. They were as silent as statues, but the small sounds Maria made did cause them to share looks amongst each other filled with both fear and concern. She could read their faces plainly enough to know that something terrible had occurred. 

She thought about asking if she'd be okay, but she was afraid she knew the answer to that too. 

She rolled forward as if she could curl up into herself, the cold steel circling her wrists pinching terribly. She focused her eyes down on her hands, traced her pale knuckles up…

Someone took her coat. She'd been wearing it when she entered Haven, hadn't she? Yes. She remembered the cold night air slashing through it, but judging from the watery pale light bleeding in through the windows, it was daylight. 

She walked into Haven, got through the security checkpoint, and then…

Then…

Nothing. Nothing before waking up on this table in chains. Nothing before the endless, terrible rolling pain that threatened to drag her back under every time it crashed over her. 

The door opened and a woman _ stormed _ in, her hair sweat slicked and sticking up in improbable directions. Her eyeliner still managed to be impeccable, as perfect as if she'd just applied it, but somehow Maria doubted it. Even through her splitting headache, she noted the bright crimson stains on the woman's uniform. 

Black and white, with that burning eye pierced by a blade on one shoulder and on the other…

Just the eye, the badge of the Seekers of Truth. Maria felt as if somebody splashed icy water on the back of her neck, instantly awake. Instantly alert and wary. She'd heard that if the Seekers caught you…you were lucky if you were never seen again. 

"Explain yourself." The woman demanded, piercing her with her dark eyes. 

Maria was actually pretty certain _ she _ was owed an explanation. Her throat felt like sandpaper and her tongue barely cooperated, but she managed to push out the words anyway. "What happened to me?" 

This was apparently the wrong thing to ask. The woman crossed the space in a heartbeat and grabbed a fistful of Maria's shirt, dragged her off the table and to her feet. She hit her hip on the edge, a dull ache that didn't quite compete with the way the room spun when she stood. In a grim way, she was thankful for the steadying grip of the Seeker. "Whatever you unleashed threatens the fiber of the very world and you dare ask what happened to you?" The woman spat. 

"I didn't…" Maria began to protest weakly and the woman's white knuckled grip tightened even further. 

"You murdered the Divine! You massacred hundreds!" 

The accusation hit her in the gut, made her head throb in protest. For a second, she wasn't in the room that smelled like her grandmother's deathbed. She was in a cold brick room on a folding chair that screeched when she shifted, blood on her hands and a harsh voice pouring into her ear. 

_ You killed him in cold blood. _

She looked down at her cuffed hands, alarmed, expecting to find Fynn's blood dried all over her knuckles. The only trace of him left, though, was the initials over the arrow on her wrist. A more permanent reminder than the blood she washed off so many years before. 

"The Divine's dead?" She repeated.

"As if you do not…" The woman made to lift her from her very feet but was stopped by a restraining hand on her shoulder and a firm command. 

"Cassandra, stop. We need her." 

She hadn't seen the other woman come in, she moved like a shadow, a sweatshirt hood pulled up high over her head. She obviously held enough power to cause the Seeker to reconsider. When the woman (Cassandra, Maria filed the name away for later) dropped her, Maria sagged back hard against the table. Her feet hadn't quite been up to the job of solely supporting her, but her brain was spinning as fast as it could while her heart thudded. "I want my lawyer."

Although explaining _ this _ mess would be a thrill, she was sure. It didn't even help that she didn't know where to begin. Still, at least her favorite legal representative would be happy to get out of the Free Marches for awhile. Maybe she could spin it as a vacation.

"That is your right." Cassandra sneered down at her. "But these are exceptional circumstances and we are unable to contact anyone outside of Haven to represent you. I doubt there is anyone inside Haven who would or could." 

The shiver that racked her body wasn't just from the spasms of her muscles or the throbbing of her head. Some self-preservation instinct began scream that something had gone horribly, terribly wrong and she needed to get out, fast. 

She wanted to ask what happened one more time, but before she could, the world spun again, the room slipping from color into dark shades of gray. She shut her eyes tightly and bit back the whimper while the pain ignited from the tip of her fingers and raced to the knot at the top of her spine. 

"You are dying." The woman with the hood had an Orlesian accent, and that reminded her of something, but it was water slipping through a sieve. "But there is a warlock who thinks the only chance we have to survive lies within you. Perhaps you can save yourself as well." 

Maria opened her eyes and stared the woman down. She didn't sound convinced and Cassandra didn't particularly look like she cared one way or another. Maria could see color burning back into the world, her vision pulsing like her heartbeat. "I don't remember what happened." 

"Perhaps." Cassandra stepped forward again, gloved fingers dipping into the thin cotton of Maria's shirt. "It is easier to show you."

Maria wasn't sure what she expected, but it wasn't the spiraling pillar of darkness reaching into the sky. It was a storm cloud full of something crackling, sick green lightning piercing the roiling cloud. It moved in a never ending spiral, pieces of rubble floating in the air around it. Things were falling from it, escaping from it. 

She'd been told the Temple of Sacred Ashes had been on top of that mountain. She guessed it wasn't there any longer. It was a shame, she'd have liked to see it. "We call it the vortex. It is a tear in the very fabric of our reality." Cassandra glared daggers at it, then down at Maria. 

"You think I did that?" She asked breathlessly, the cold air stinging her lungs, increasing the effort it took to breathe. She wanted to ask where her coat was, but so far nobody had shown a sign of being a bit friendly. "That's witchcraft and I'm many things, but I'm not a witch."

"Somebody did it." Cassandra led her forward past silent, haunted faces of soldiers, templars, witches and warlocks. They all had faces streaked with sweat and grime and underneath all the righteous fury directed her way…

Fear. Pure, unadulterated horror. 

"You are the only suspect." Cassandra didn't pry her fingers away from her arm. Maria would bruise later. 

Suspect. She could laugh. "Why?"

She didn't actually mean it has a real question. It was more a rhetorical question to the entire universe asking how in Andraste's name her life could always get worse. But maybe Cassandra operated on a concrete playing field, because she answered. "You stepped out of it into the arms of one of our soldiers. They said there was someone behind you. A woman." 

She stepped out of that? There was no way in hell or Earth anyone survived that. Maria ripped her eyes away from it, stared up into Cassandra's. "How many people died?" 

The soft, gentle question disarmed the Seeker. She saw something twist within the woman's dark eyes before she frowned. "Many. Hundreds. And hundreds more are in danger. The column is expanding by the hour, we fear it will continue until the world is swallowed whole."

Maria was just under four and a half feet tall, which was way too short to be dealing with this. She looked back up helplessly, staring at the spinning vortex. "What am I supposed to do about that?" She asked, bewildered. 

"Whatever occured changed you. We believe you could be the key to preventing further catastrophe. If you are innocent, as you claim, it is to your benefit to assist." 

She took a shaky breath, dug her nails into the palm of her hand. "How?"

While they'd been speaking, they walked through town to an elegant set of stairs carved into the mountain. They looked… familiar, somehow. Her stomach rolled with a strange sense of deja vu, but the drawers she rattled for the memories were empty. Maria's brain stored every spare detail from a thousand useless, inane things, lines from poems she'd read in school, facts from a news story on pollution, the price of bananas in Par Vollen. 

Fynn’s smile against her neck while he pulled her hips to his. Bea's favorite song when she was seven years old. Her father helping her to aim a pistol with one big hand on her shoulder. Nanna crying when she found out where Maria got the money for the chemotherapy. 

Her traitorous mind could recall all of it perfectly, but nothing after she stepped into Haven. 

"We must make our way up to what is left of the temple." Cassandra pointed her sharp nose up the mountain. "And pray we are not too late and that our security forces have held." 

xx

_ Life’s a game, but it's not fair _   
_ I make the rules so I don’t care _   
_ So I keep doin’ my own thing _   
_ Walkin’ tall against the rain _   
_ Victory’s within the mile _   
_ Almost there, don’t give up now _   
_ Only thing that’s on my mind _ _   
Is who’s gonna run this town tonight? _

Maker’s balls, he hoped if he didn’t make it out of this, somebody was able to retrieve the data from his glasses. Bianca and Hawke would have a field day with the readings he was picking up. They could use the data to… He wasn’t sure, honestly. Probably blow something sky-high and he wouldn’t be around to talk the authorities down. 

“Chuckles, I hope this plan of yours works.” Varric muttered, reloading the rifle as deftly as he could. The runed bullets sparkled in his hands as he slid them into the chamber. 

“Chances of failure are high.” Bianca cautioned. “Even if the survivor is amenable to assisting, the vortex is emitting mass amounts of arcane energy. Enough to disintegrate anyone who attempts to get within two hundred feet.” 

The elf wiped his hands on his tight black pants impatiently. “Which is why we are completing our first attempt on one of the cracks, Mister Tethras.” 

His earpiece snapped and crackled and Varric frowned to himself. The connection with the satellite was growing more and more spotty. Every time he lost connection, Varric wondered if his clever little beauty could figure out a way to reconnect.

So far, she hadn’t let him down. Instead of worrying about the AI, he turned his attention to the crack Solas studied. The elf showed up like he’d been sent by blessed Andraste himself and managed to stabilize the dying woman down below before turning his attention to the vortex itself. Varric’s initial thoughts, that it’d been a crack in the veil between the two planes of existence, had been shared by the elf. Unfortunately, because Varric would have given his arm to not be right for once. 

But unlike Varric, the man with the wolf-jaw necklace had an idea for fixing it. Unfortunately, it hinged on a lot of educated guesses being correct. One, that the power slowly tearing the dwarven woman apart was connected to the vortex. Two, that the vortex would respond to that power. Third, that the response to that power would be _ desirable _ and wouldn’t just send them further up a shit creek without a paddle. 

The cracks themselves formed near the vortex, but seemed to be spreading and opening elsewhere by the minute. They smoked along the ground and into thin air, wispy gnarled fingers of energy where the world cracked like a mirror. If he turned on the filter in his glasses, he’d see it spitting green sparks into the air around them. It was enough to make his chest air stand on end. 

Solas had the wolf bone in his right hand, the leather strap he kept it on wrapped around his knuckles. His focus, Varric assumed. Hawke had her trusty zippo, Bethany used an old skeleton key strung on a necklace, Merrill carried around her boxcutter.

“There is something on the other side.” Solas called out, finger rubbing the bone in his palm in a gentle caress. “Be on guard.” 

Varric didn’t have to wait long before slender talons pushed their way through the crack. Varric took careful aim, but before he could so much as pull the rifle’s trigger, a fist easily as large as his chest crashed through the crack with a shattering sound. Varric could see skin hanging, shredded and flayed, from the creature’s arm as it shoved the crack open wide with a bellow, smaller shades and demons pouring out alongside it. 

Then, it was all a matter of staying alive, even as the monsters descended with their gnashing teeth and deadly talons. He could hear the screams of the soldiers around him as they began to fall.

He remembered Hawke’s eyes sparkling wickedly with too much drink as she leaned over the bar. _ All people have demons, Varric. I just see them better than anyone else. _

Varric wished he could see substantially less demons and more of better things. Beaches, holiday lights, sunsets, pretty bartenders… 

He was considering that thought when a blast of power forced the encroaching demons away. Varric turned, quickly, to take in the Seeker carefully aiming her revolver at the largest demon. Thank the Maker, Varric thought immediately. Reinforcements were always welcome. 

And yet, the momentary distraction very nearly cost him. As it was, the close call shaved years off his life. When he turned back around, a wraith was nearly on him. Varric began to curse inventively, bringing up his rifle to give it a solid hit with the barrel. Instead, one shot rang out behind him, a perfect hole blooming in the wraith’s wrinkled black skin, arcs of light dancing from the hole to extinguish the life in its eyes. 

He dared a glance over his shoulder and met the most striking pair of gray eyes he’d ever seen. They were like liquid silverite, shining bright in the face of the woman they called an evil murderess. She held a pistol securely in both her hands, one wrist free of the dangling cuff still linked to her other hand. Nobody gave the poor woman back her blighted coat or even her hat before dragging her up on this suicide mission. She was dressed in that thin black shirt with the sleeves stopping at her elbow, tattered and ripped jeans, and those boots that saw better days. 

His mind should have been doing more important things, surviving being key among them, but only one thought burned in his mind.

He thought the curves of her body would bring a man willingly to his knees, but it was those eyes that a man could die or kill for. 

“Here!” Solas called, darting to her side and slipping one thin arm around her back, hurrying her to the crack. “Here, stand here.” 

She still had a pistol in her left hand, but it was her right hand that Solas raised and pressed flush against the jagged wound in the air. She flickered right in front of them, a gasp slipping from those coral lips before she yanked her hand away, held it to her chest and took a step back. Or at least, she tried to. Solas held his hand stiff behind her back, watching with an expression of smug satisfaction as the sky shimmered, the crack knitting together in front of her face, below her feet. 

Oh thank fucking Andraste, they needed a damn break. 

Solas changed his smile into something kind, gentle. His one arm tightened around her slim shoulders before he let go, giving an elegant and odd bow towards the small woman. “The hero of the hour, it seems. You do indeed hold the key to our salvation.” 

“Drop your weapon!” The Seeker demanded harshly, her own revolver leveled at the small woman next to Solas. The expression on Solas’s face darkened and turned murderous while he spun, eyes alight with mutiny, to the Seeker. He stepped out in front of the dwarf, placing himself directly between the Seeker and the woman. 

“No!” The woman protested, reaching out with her right arm and presenting the flat of her pal to Solas, a spike of fear in her bewitching eyes. With her other hand, cuff dangling comically, she ejected the clip from the pistol experly and kicked it away before slowly, carefully crouching to place it on the ground.

“Seeker, that is enough.” Solas was immovable, back to the redhead and face pointed toward the Seeker. “I cannot claim to know what happened, but the magic that caused this is unlike what I have ever seen. Not only is your prisoner no witch, she is a dwarf. She is physically incapable of causing a disaster of this magnitude.” 

“She slipped her handcuffs.” Cassandra argued, fingers curled tight around her revolver. “And she armed herself in spite of…” 

“To save my ass.” Varric sidled casually to the woman’s side, shot her a wink as he bent to retrieve the clip. He held it back out to the woman with an easy, practiced grin. “Much appreciated.” 

She didn’t reach out to take it. She still had her body angled toward Solas and the Seeker, her eyes on his but her attention on the corner of her eye where she could watch the two of them. Her face was carefully impassive, but Varric didn’t miss the trembling of her hands. 

The Seeker lowered her revolver with a sigh, holstering it and fixing the dwarf with something approaching resignation. “No, they are right. The most dangerous part of our climb is ahead and we cannot expect you to be defenseless. You know how to use that pistol, I trust?” 

It had been a perfect shot, Varric knew it couldn’t have been easy, but the woman only nodded and crouched back down to retrieve it. She carefully retrieved the clip from his gloved fingers. “You’ve got to be freezing. What happened to her coat, Seeker? Or her hat?” 

Cassandra blinked owlishly before her cheeks flushed with what Varric sincerely hoped was shame. “I did not… time was of the essence.” 

“It’s fine.” The woman protested, but it certainly wasn’t. As if reading his mind, Solas was already stripping off his own coat. He had a soft sweater underneath it, much thicker than the thin shirt their new friend wore. 

“You’ll have to roll up the sleeves.” Solas sounded apologetic. “But it would do us no good if you froze on our way up the mountain.” 

“I can’t…” She began to deflect again, holding herself stiff and wary. Varric broke in, taking those piercing eyes away from Solas. 

“Seeker, introduce us properly.” Varric said smoothly. “I typically like to know the names of all the people I’m running suicide jobs with.” 

The Seeker opened her mouth, then shut it with a definitive click, the color building beneath her skin. Varric raised an eyebrow as Cassandra muttered something under her breath. “Sorry, didn’t catch that?” 

“She didn’t ask me for my name.”

Varric turned in shock back to the beautiful redhead before scowling back at the Seeker. “You’ve got to be shitting me.” 

“It was not the time for pleasantries.” The Seeker bit out, turning on her heel. “We need to get to the temple before…” 

“I am Solas.” The elf gave another of his quaint half-bows and a grave smile. “I am, much like I suspect you are, in the wrong place at the wrong time. However, I stayed to use my expertise to combat this vortex.” 

“He also saved your life after they pulled you down off that mountain. You looked touch and go there for awhile.” Varric pulled his lock picks back from his pocket and held them up in front of the woman’s eyes. “Mind if I get that other bracelet off you, Princess?” 

“Princess?” She echoed, perplexed, but she held her arm out in silent invitation. 

“Mister Tethras is fond of nicknames.” Solas finished rolling up the sleeves on his coat and held it open in silent invitation. He missed the small, startled movement of the woman’s whole body, but Solas couldn’t miss the sudden gleaming interest in her eyes while Varric popped the cuff off and let it fall to the ground. 

“I thought you looked familiar." There was a hint of a smile in her voice for the first time and it gave her voice a light, lilting music. "No glasses on the back of your books, though." 

"I would never risk obscuring my third best feature on my author biography." Her eyes turned warm, lively. She allowed herself the luxury of slipping into Solas's coat with a mumbled, almost shy, thank you.

She didn't do it, he thought. Whatever happened here, she wasn't responsible. He was sure. "I love meeting a fan, even in the most dire of circumstances. What's your name, Princess?" 

She hesitated only a second before she answered. "Maria Cadash." 

His earpiece chirped. "There will be a delay, Varric, but I can begin to search for information about a Maria Cadash from Ostwick." 

Bianca's voice in his ear made him smile even brighter, but he shook his head. There'd be time for that later, if they didn't die horribly. He was just glad his baby was back _ and _ the plan looked like it could work. 

"If you are all quite finished." Cassandra folded her arms impatiently across her chest. 

"I hypothesize that your very presence can ease the cracks in the world." Solas scowled upwards towards the vortex. "You are a part of the magic that caused it, however that came to be. You are two parts of a puzzle and by bringing both of you together… we may be able to stop the vortex and save your life. If we do nothing…" 

"Everyone dies." Maria guessed. Solas nodded, weary and resigned. 

Maria squared her shoulders and set her jaw. She looked like a woman about to fight a dragon. "Right. Let's go then." 

Varric smirked and gestured ahead of them with his rifle. "Lead on, Cadash."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "Run this Town" by Rihanna and Jay-Z. I highly recommend listening to the Battlefield 4 Remixed version.


	4. The Answered Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria Cadash thought she knew monsters.  
Varric Tethras starts to pray.

Her head hurt worse the higher they climbed. She did her best to hide how it cost her to straggle behind the other three, but she hadn't been able to hide the bright red blood running from her nose endlessly, hadn't been able to wipe it away quick enough onto the hem of her shirt. 

"Sorry." She mumbled as the tall elf with the old, serious eyes loomed over her with a grim look of concern. "I'm trying not to bleed out on your coat." 

"The coat is of little consequence." Solas smiled at her feeble attempt at humor and damnit if she didn't appreciate it. "It is only a bit further. Please stay with us, Miss Cadash." 

Well, it wasn't like she had much of a choice. The creatures they fought through to get this far were torn from the realms of nightmares and fairy stories, twisted dangerous things that made her blood run cold. Maria thought she knew monsters, thought the worst evil wore the skin of the people who looked just like everyone else. The ones who smiled when people cried.

The man sleeping next to her on a lumpy mattress with his arm thrown across her ribcage like the gate of a prison while she stared at the water-stained ceiling and tried to think about anything else but his hands on her. 

She'd been wrong. There were monsters with twisted skins and too many teeth who poured from the thing above them like vengeance on a world gone astray. She couldn't go back through the monsters alone, she couldn't flee Haven, she couldn't stay where she was unless she was finally prepared to give up, lay down, and die. What were the chances of her making it back home after this anyway?

She fucking  _ told  _ Dwyka this was a suicide trip. 

"Here." A scrap of cloth was shoved impatiently in front of her face. It was dark violet and stained suspiciously in places, but more importantly Maria recognized it. The scarf the Seeker was wearing fluttered in the cold wind as the Seeker thrust her whole arm out more insistently. "For the bleeding."

Maria didn't want to take it, but she also didn't want to risk Solas caught between her and that gun again. She nodded while she pulled the soft fabric from the Seeker and pressed it against her bleeding nose. 

"Path ahead looks clear from the satellite." 

Varric  _ fucking _ Tethras himself peered down at a slim white tablet, the silver glasses pushed up on top of his head like they'd been forgotten. He looked exactly like the man on the back of all his novels, the portraits lit moodily in black and white where he reclined at empty tables in hipster coffee shops. She'd also seen him on talk shows, heard him on podcasts, watched him on the news at the elbow of both Bianca Davri and Reyna Hawke, looking suave and debonair as the women sparkled in risque gowns and expensive jewelry. 

He looked less like a celebrity on this blighted mountain. More like a real person in his leather coat and the button-up shirt that had a truly distracting number of buttons undone to reveal the hard planes of his chest and a tempting trail of blonde hair just a bit darker than the strands pulled half away from his face. 

If the world wasn't ending and she wasn't dying, she thought mournfully. It would be a damn accomplishment to be proud of - ensnaring Varric Tethras for one night. 

His presence almost convinced her this was a dream. She'd wake up and tell Bea about the nightmare where Varric Tethras and friends dragged her up to a tear in the world while he called her  _ princess _ . Her sister would get a fucking kick out of it. 

"She can't get a great look though." Varric continued, oblivious to her starstruck scattered thoughts. "We're damn close to losing that satellite link and the second we do, our limited communication capabilities are going the way of my sanity."

"She?" Maria's voice was muffled by the fabric that smelled of camp smoke and sweat. Varric's whole face lit up and Cassandra scoffed, rolling her eyes heavenward. 

"Bianca, my virtual assistant." He tapped the screen quickly, turned the tablet to face her. "Say hello, Bianca." 

Maria didn't expect the cool, calm voice to float out of the speakers as clear as if a woman stood right next to Varric. "Hello Maria Cadash." 

Holy shit. "Your computer is  _ named _ Bianca?" 

"Here we go." Cassandra muttered as Varric put away his tablet inside the pockets of his jacket with a fairly injured expression. 

"She's not just a computer." He sighed dramatically. "And the Seeker just doesn't like to admit we'd have all been dead sometime yesterday without her." 

Sometime yesterday? Had it been more than one day? She couldn't remember, even as Solas offered his arm to help her climb up a broken section of the staircase.

"Her abilities are most impressive." Solas couldn't quite hide the wry smile on his lips born, she suspected, from a desire to frustrate Cassandra more than anything else. "The fact that we now have some limited form of communication with the outside world at all is remarkable."

Maria's mouth went dry and she whirled to Cassandra, her blood soaking into expensive fabric that belonged to the Seeker. Maria's hands shook with the effort of climbing up the damned mountainside, her head ached and her breath came shallow and uneven. "You said you couldn't get communication out of Haven."

"There are more important things than a call to your lawyer." Cassandra snapped. 

"How long? How long was I unconscious?" Maria looked to Solas. He frowned tightly, gently placing his hand on her shoulder as they stumbled forward. 

"Two days, I believe. I knew you would wake very early this morning." He answered simply. 

Two days. Two fucking days. People had to know what had happened at Haven, it must be all over every news channel in Thedas. 

"I had a phone." The words tumbled and she could feel panic starting somewhere in her throat. Bea would be  _ trying _ to reach her, desperately, and Cole would have called using the cheap burner they gave him… 

"Fried like an overcooked egg." Varric had his glasses back on, but even underneath them she could sense something like warm, genuine concern. "Technology and magic don't always get along. Particularly when shit like this happens."

"Even if it was not, no cell phones have been working within a thirty mile radius. We are uncertain if they work farther or not." Cassandra had the rigid line of her back to her. "You can call your lawyer after…"

"Fuck my lawyer!" Maria exploded, a flash of temper that made her vision swirl and caused the Seeker to look back with a cocked eyebrow. Her lawyer wasn't the most important call she needed to make, not with Bea…

Bea did such fucking stupid things when she was scared. Reckless and impulsive to the very core and she couldn't risk… the very thought of what Bea might do made her heart thud even more unevenly. "You brought me up here to die and you didn't think there  _ might _ be someone I wanted to say goodbye to?" 

Her outburst, the first complaint she'd made on this arduous climb, seemed to startle the motley crew. "This will work." Solas tried to soothe, as if she was simply a spooked cat or a frightened child. "Do not despair."

"Perhaps I should have…" Cassandra hunched her shoulders defensively. "I did not… I wanted…" 

"I can't get a call out, but I can probably get a message." Varric interrupted. "No guarantees, but if you've got a phone number I'll give it a shot." 

It was better than nothing. She rattled off Bea's phone number and waited for him to pull out his tablet but he only tapped his ear, near the garish golden ring piercing the lobe. She had to look again to note the small, flesh colored earpiece. Varric nodded tersely, as if listening to a voice in his head, then met her eyes. "Go ahead, Bianca's listening."

What did one say in a situation like this? If these were the last things Bea ever heard from her, what did she need to know? Varric's amber eyes were calm, empathetic, and patient, but Maker the thought of telling anyone besides Bea  _ anything _ this personal made her stomach ache. 

"Can you tell her I love her?" Maria's throat compressed and she had trouble swallowing. "Tell her I'll find a way, but if I don't… tell her to go. Get out of Ostwick and go as far as she can. Take what's under my bed, sell it, and go." 

As far from Ostwick as she could get, beyond the reach of Dwyka's grubby fingers. Without Maria to protect them, Dwyka would have Bea turning tricks in a month or in a shallow grave outside the city when she didn't cooperate. Varric frowned, weary lines appearing in his forehead. "Anything else?"

A million things. She wanted to confess she'd always loved the way Bea danced, wild and free. That she lived for the nights when it was too hot to sleep in the shitty apartment they crammed into and they climbed onto the roof to try and catch sight of the stars. She wanted to apologize for fucking everything up, for thinking she was clever enough to escape the jaws she stepped into all those years ago. She wanted to reassure Bea it hadn’t been her fault, it had never been her fault. 

"No." She said instead. "That's all." 

She stormed past the Seeker and thrust the blood covered scarf hard into the woman's chest without a second glance. She'd rather taste her own blood.

The inside of the temple seemed to be floating in the sky around the vortex, a slowly revolving circle of debris that probably once had been the pride of the Chantry. 

Now, the only thing standing was the gray stone exterior of the ancient holy site. Maria stared up at the ashen walls, heartbeat pounding inside her head, the taste of iron in her mouth, fire licking at every nerve in her body. 

"Thank the Maker you've arrived." A male voice boomed, both authoritative and relieved. Maria turned her blurred vision to the figure striding forward, trying to focus on small details because the whole of  _ anything  _ was too overwhelming. The man was tall, blonde hair. Scar on his lip. "We've been nearly overwhelmed. Casualties are growing. Please tell me you can stop this madness."

She pressed her palm to her forehead to stave off the wicked throb his voice brought and closed her eyes tightly. "Stay with us, Princess." Varric's gentle voice was calm and measured. "Just a bit further." 

"We have to hurry." Cassandra's voice sounded too far away, a stray echo in a wind tunnel. Everything seemed to stretch and fade, colors, sound. Even the pressure of Solas's hand on her shoulder seemed to slip away, seemed to belong to another place and time. 

She opened her eyes. Around her, everything was gray, quiet,  _ empty _ . She took a trembling step forward, searching blindly for anything familiar. Even the stone walls of the temple above seemed wrong, twisted, like a dream. Like a nightmare. 

Then everything snapped back with a shock that tore a scream from her throat and she dropped to her knees in the snow of the battlefield with everyone shouting nearby. Too loud, too bright, too…

"Seeker, that wasn't a damn flicker. She was  _ gone _ ." 

"It is the vortex. She slipped bodily into the fade for a moment, and will continue to do so until…" 

"Something else came back with her. I can feel it, stay on guard." 

“Stay here, Commander. Hold the line and we will assist her.” 

Cassandra's arm slipped under her shoulder and the woman hoisted her back up with an expression of grin determination. "Quickly." 

She couldn't fight the Seeker pulling her into the temple even if she wanted to, but a part of her  _ didn't  _ want to fight it. She felt like a magnet pulling pulled forward by a force too compelling to ignore. She nearly missed the torrent of cursing from behind them as they began to descend into the shattered temple, but she couldn't miss the cause. 

Maria knew lyrium, but she'd never seen it like this. It was blistering hot and burned red against the carnage around it, burnt skeletons and twisted corpses. The news said it was poison more powerful than anything ever before seen, but it was only in Kirkwall.

Except they were a long way from Kirkwall. "Dwarf…" Cassandra called menacingly. 

"I see it, Seeker." Varric sounded tired, old. "Shit."

Maria felt something snap in the air again, something that made her teeth hurt. Then a voice, a voice she knew she heard before. 

"Someone! Help me!"

xx

It was a shitty day when a dead woman's voice wasn't even the strangest thing that happened. Still, the Divine's thick Orlesian accent was unmistakable and it made Cassandra pale to nearly the same shade as the dying dwarf she supported. 

The whole room shimmered, magic climbing up the shattered walls, rendering them whole. The entire scene took on a muffled quality, muted, and Varric watched a shadow take shape as she passed through Cassandra, heading straight towards him unseeingly. 

It was Maria Cadash's ghost, quiet and faint, but undoubtedly the woman in front of them that could barely go on. This whole scene reeked of malevolent magic, but Varric couldn't stop it, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the curious, eager face perusing the paintings that had probably been worth millions. The false Maria wore a small, rapturous smile as she examined them, one hand raised as if fighting the urge to touch…

"Someone! Help me!" 

The shadow of Maria froze, turned to look over her slender shoulder with a tight frown. Her other hand went to the waistband of her jeans on instinct more than anything else, but clasped on nothing. Still Maria was moving, footsteps quick and light as she pushed against a heavy wooden door with all her strength armed with nothing but an indignant rage burning in those stunning eyes.

"You failed, Seeker." The scene froze and Varric spun from the ghost pushing the doorway to the creature lounging comfortably against the wall grinning at Cassandra. It wore the Seeker's face, but it was dressed in an expensive red gown and impractical matching heels. The demon's skin crackled with electricity as she pushed away from the wall and stretched suggestively, calling attention to the powerful athletic curves hidden under the skin tight dress. "You had one job, protect the Divine. But she's dead now and all you got in exchange was a thief and a liar." 

The smile the demon wore had too many teeth as she advanced threateningly. Cassandra, thank Andraste, showed no fear. She shot a bullet from her hip, one that landed in the abdomen of the demon, leaving a smoking crater. The creature barely flinched and only laughed, tossing back its head.

"This is my world now." It promised, vanishing into the ether. The magic around them faded, revealing the scene of destruction once more. Cassandra stared down at the top of Maria's head. 

"The Divine called out to you." Something like awe suffused Cassandra's voice. "And you answered, unarmed." 

She hadn't needed to. Nobody would blame a Carta girl from the rough streets of Ostwick if she turned tail and ran from an old woman's cry, from the consequences of a war she played no part in. Varric wished he could say she benefited from the brave, stupid choice. Instead, it looked more and more likely the woman who ran towards a cry for help would perish up here. 

"I throw a mean punch." A joke. Maria Cadash made a damned joke. He almost didn't believe it except for the flicker of a smile through her pain. She wiped the blood off her face with shaking fingers, staring at them in dismay and missing the shattered expression on Cassandra's face. It was the look of a woman who just realized she’d made a catastrophic error in judgement, leaping to the conclusion far too quickly that their sole survivor was the instigator instead of a would-be rescuer. Varric kinda hoped they all survived just because it’d be nice to watch the Seeker chew on that for awhile. 

“The demon is not gone.” Solas warned, stepping forward with eyes blazing green, nose in the air like a wolf scenting trouble. “Be on guard, it is a demon of pride and it is grown powerful from the vortex.” 

“Duly noted, Chuckles.” Varric muttered, shifting his rifle. “Any tips for dealing with it?” 

“Do not die.” Solas said gravely. Varric simply sighed, resigned. Why, he pondered uselessly, did witches and warlocks never have any sensible, helpful advice? 

“Varric Tethras.” The voice in his ear purred, but it wasn’t the voice of his AI. The AI hadn’t been heard from since they spotted the temple walls, Varric suspected even Bianca couldn’t break through the roiling storm above him to get a signal down. It made Varric uneasy, he wasn’t used to being completely on his own. However, he’d prefer it to the voice whispering through the earpiece like a snake, a near perfect imitation of the  _ real _ Bianca’s voice if he was somehow able to ignore the multi-leveled tones, dark and sinister underneath. “They say pride goes before a fall, don’t they? Poetic. You were so very proud.” 

Varric’s shoulders tensed and he brought his gloved fingers up to his ear. Before he could yank the bud from his ear, the voice continued, a laugh curling within it like smoke. “All your money. All your influence. But your city burned and so will everyone you love.” 

He ripped the device out of his ear and pocketed it, staring at the red lyrium  _ he _ was responsible for. The shit Bartrand found in that mine Varric sent him to check out with Hawke. He could remember the two of them perfectly, Hawke’s hands hooked in her pockets as she shot a pleading look over Bartrand’s shoulder, begging Varric to leave his scheduled meetings and come with them because Bartrand was  _ boring _ , Bartrand was  _ strict _ and  _ rude  _ and…

Bartrand locked her in that red lyrium infested mine to die. If it wouldn’t have been for Sunshine showing up hours later, looking for her sister… 

He would have lost his best friend to his own selfish bastard brother.

He heard the tell-tell click of the zippo, the case snapping back and forth. A nervous habit he found oddly soothing, in normal circumstances. These weren’t normal circumstances, and he could have done without the horrifying version of Hawke that stepped from behind the red lyrium, dressed in threadbare leggings and that damn oversized coat, flicking her zippo open and shut while her eyes glowed red. 

“Before you ask, Seeker.” Varric aimed his rifle levely at Hawke’s chest. “That’s not her, promise.” 

The false Hawke grinned, all wicked teeth behind the shoulder length fall of Hawke’s dark curls. A spider crawled from the corner of her pink lips, up her pale cheek. "You couldn’t protect me. You couldn’t protect Bethany. You couldn’t protect mother. You promised me we’d be safe, Varric. You promised.” 

“Begone.” Solas commanded, thrusting his palm out, wolf jaw held between his thumb. Varric felt the pull of power in his teeth, shadows racing towards the false Hawke by the red lyrium. The creature snarled, morphing, changing, rearing up too tall, teeth elongating, laughter booming. 

“You cannot banish me, wolf!” The creature growled, stomping forward and shattering the lyrium beneath it’s heel. “I am immortal! Eternal!”

The pop of the pistol drug him from his reverie, although it didn’t seem to do much except annoy the demon. The aim was just about perfect, right where a normal creature would have a heart. 

“Head!” Cassandra directed tersely. Varric spared just enough of a glance to see Maria nod, ducking behind the red lyrium growing up out of the ground.

“And don’t touch that shit, Cadash!” He yelled, tucking himself beneath a crumbling portion of what he thought was a nave, at some point in time. “That’s no normal lyrium!” 

“I’m  _ fucking _ aware of what normal lyrium looks like.” Maria called back, voice no less impressively irritated for the faltering quality of it. 

“The vortex!” Solas called. “Seeker, if you get her to the Vortex we can end this! The energy signatures will cancel this out, it will…” 

The demon roared. “Chuckles, easier said than done!” 

The creature towered above them between their small group and the vortex pulsing, twisting behind them. The one Bianca warned would incinerate anything within two hundred feet. The Seeker thrust out her free fist into the air and Varric felt the world around them leeching into her, a Seeker’s ability to draw down all the magical energy… 

It wouldn’t be enough, even as the Seeker grabbed all she could and channeled it back out in a burst of bright blue light, knocking the demon pack before reaching for her revolver. “Cadash, go!” 

She didn’t hesitate, like she hadn’t hesitated when she heard the cry for help. She leapt into immediate action, ducking past the demon as Solas thrust his fist up, vines breaking from the shattered ground of the earth and tangling around the trunks of the demon’s sparking stone legs. 

She didn’t make it very far. She couldn't hope to, really, not between the lightning racing down the creature's body and the vortex sapping her of her own strength. She barely dodged the purple veined fist as it crashed to the ground, her pistol clattering across the stone. 

She'd never make it herself. He cursed, invoking every snot-nosed ancestor of his past for luck before he rolled out of the rock cover. "Seeker, cover us!" 

He hoped to the Maker above Cassandra heard him, because he raced forward and reached for Maria's hand, pulling her upright. She groaned, other hand touching the side of her head. She was going to die, and he was going to help her do it and pray it saved the damn world. Hopefully, somebody would forgive him for it because he doubted he ever would. 

They ran into the storm around the vortex, the energy lashing against them, sparks of burning things flying into the air, green flashes bursting. It got harder to breathe the closer they got. Two hundred feet, he thought miserably as they closed in. She'd have to go the last stretch alone and  _ pray _ . 

"Do you think this is going to work?" Her voice was barely audible over the demon behind them, the vortex in front. They stood on the edge of a crater, the column snapping from the center. 

Maybe. Maybe not. Best to keep it lighthearted. "Any bucket list items you want to cross off before you waltz back in there, just in case?"

She looked like she almost said something, then reconsidered. Her flinty eyes reflected the spiraling column and a trickle of blood continued to flow from her nose to her pale lips. She wiped it on Solas's coat impatiently. "Did Donnen die at the end of Hard in Hightown, or is he alive?"

Her last request was for a spoiler from his best selling book series. He laughed, more startled than anything, and grinned sheepishly. "No." He admitted. "He's alive. I hate to kill off a good character."

She smiled almost victoriously, the expression lighting her features up once more to make her more than a dead woman walking. She nodded, satisfied and took one trembling step forward. His hand was still wrapped around her arm and he couldn't quite make himself let go even as she staggered to a stop, even as he heard Cassandra scream behind him. 

She seemed to make a decision for him, stepping back just enough to press her lips against the stubble of his jaw. Her breath was hot and heavy, he could smell her blood and sweat, the fierce searing press of her lips to his skin undid him for one tiny moment, long enough to loosen his grip and allow her to slip from him. 

She smelled like cinnamon underneath all the gore, the lingering ghost of the scent in her hair or on her shirt, he didn’t know. “Thanks, for the message to my sister. I owe you one.” 

Sister. He’d been wondering if it was a girlfriend, but a sister… A family… someone that would miss her the rest of her life. “If you stop this, I’ll call it even.” He dropped his hand to his side, helpless, watching as she took another step forward until she reached the very edge of the crater. She slid down into it on both heels and palms, stumbling at the bottom. Her pale skin glowed with the energy of the vortex, and Varric waited to see it start peeling from her in disintegrating strips. She was too close, too damn close, and this wasn’t going to work…

Instead she lit up, a bright pillar of white, as if she herself were an angel of mercy sent to salvage Thedas. Her hair was lost in the white light, her features extinguished, and she stepped forward, fingertips outstretched… 

Varric didn’t pray, but when she reached the Vortex, when he felt the energy implode around her form, when he heard the pained roar from the creature around her, when the energy began to rush past him and raised the hair on the back of his neck…

When everything around them froze, the vortex present but no longer swirling, and he saw Maria Cadash in front of it, body marvelously intact even though she was far too still… 

He started to pray  _ fervently _ with all the devotion of the newly converted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading <3 <3


	5. The Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric spends too much time on social media and not enough time reading his emails.  
Maria learns walking away from Haven may not be as easy as she wants it to be.

Varric couldn't say why he slid down into the crater after her. It was a stupid thing to do, after all. He had no information, no idea if the less-threatening but still pants-shittingly terrifying vortex would take the skin from his bones. Even if it didn’t, they were still in serious trouble. Even if the thing above them wasn't spitting out demons, it certainly couldn't _ stay _ like this without consequences. But hell if Maria Cadash hadn't accomplished the fucking impossible with her heroic act of reckless bravery. Maybe all she bought them was a reprieve, but Varric knew the value of time, and he’d take a reprieve over imminent death any day. 

Varric also strongly suspected he'd just watched a damn miracle occur and he couldn't just let the woman slip out of their fingers. There was a story here, one for the ages, and Varric knew the value of that too. 

If he was honest with himself, he was also thinking about the way her dry, soft lips felt pressed to his cheek and the sweet cinnamon smell of her underneath everything else. 

He stumbled to the bottom, rocks falling in his path like a small avalanche. Maria didn't stir, didn't make any sign of having heard his approach. From up above him, he heard the Seeker call his name. 

"Down here!" He shouted back, crouching down beside the small form. Dust streaked her apple red hair, blood was smeared on her face, all over Solas's coat. She no longer flickered, her form solid beneath him while he brushed gloved fingers over her neck. At first, he felt nothing. A void where a pulse should be. His heart dropped. 

But after a second of searching, it was there. Weak, too rapid, but present. Damnit, he'd take the win where he could get it. "Is she..?" Solas called down into the chasm. 

"Alive." He confirmed, throwing the rifle over his shoulder and bending over her, one arm circling her lower back while the other curled around her thighs. _ Alive _ . Miraculously _ alive _ in spite of everything. She was dead weight in his arms, but dead weight with a pulse, with breath on his shoulder. 

He wouldn't have to call that number back and tell the sister that they'd be shipping Maria Cadash back to Ostwick in a coffin or an urn. Thank fucking Andraste for that. 

"The vortex is still present." Cassandra turned her accusing voice to the elf while Varric began to pick his way up the slope of the crater. 

"Yes, but calm. For the moment." Solas slipped down the edge himself, planting one foot firmly on the steep slope and reaching out one long, skinny arm for Varric. "Mister Tethras, be careful with her. I fear she is not out of the woods yet, and if we are to have any further hope of ending this catastrophe, she will be needed." 

"And how do you propose to do that?" Cassandra asked harshly, stepping into the crater herself. She stalked carefully past Solas, taking his extended hand and leaning further down, outstretching her fingers. Varric shifted Maria's weight carefully, wincing as his finger brushed her delectable rear before he settled her over his shoulder as cautiously as he could. 

It was innocent, he defended himself immediately inside his head. He couldn't very well carry her out of this hole in the ground without touching her. If his traitorous mind happened to appreciate the very fine curves pressed against the hard planes of his chest and arms… well, he was only a man. A dirty, perverse man who would be going straight to the void. 

He just wished Cassandra wasn't looking at him as if she knew _ exactly _where in the gutter his brain had landed. She scowled while she helped pull him up, both her and Solas conspiring to drag him the rest of the way to the edge. He gently laid down his burden on the cracked stone foundation, allowed himself another lingering glance at her pale, unconscious face while Solas leaned over her. He nodded, face grave. "I believe she will recover, but she is still hexed. The magic that caused the vortex lingers in her." 

"And yet she could not shut it." Cassandra glared behind them. 

"Andraste's ass, Seeker. Cut her a break, she stumbled up here half dead to fix that piece of shit." Varric crossed his arms over his chest and glared pointedly up at the Seeker.

"I know." Cassandra snapped, running one gloved hand through her short hair and twisting the blood stained scarf thoughtfully in her other fingers. Cassandra's eyes softened and she let her gaze settle on the dwarf at her feet. "I know. She was… she was brave and selfless, and placed exactly where she needed to be. As if sent by Andraste herself." 

"She is a victim of fate, Seeker. No holy martyr for your cause." Solas rested the back of his hand against her forehead and hunched his shoulders over the small form below him protectively. 

"You saw." Cassandra turned to Varric, her eyes burning with righteous fervor. "She could not have survived without the Maker's blessing."

Maybe, but he wasn't about to sacrifice another person to this crazy holy war when he'd spent so much damn time trying to keep Hawke and their friends out of it. "Seeker, she's just a dwarf." She was _ Carta _ for fuck's sake. "The Maker had his pick of Chantry folk and templars here in Haven. Why would he pick a dwarf?" 

"I do not know." Cassandra confessed, looking a bit stricken while crouched down next to Solas and Maria. While she pondered morosely, Varric's hand dived back into his pocket and he fished his earbud back out, fitting it into the usual place. 

"Bianca, you with us?" He asked into the heavy silence. 

"Yes." The AI chirped, sounding pleased. "I am resetting communication networks, I can estimate the outage will be resolved in no more than an hour with the resources I have devoted to the project." 

"Have I told you lately what a beauty you are?" Varric grinned, then grinned even harder when Cassandra scoffed. 

"Beauty is subjective, but I will take the compliment as intended." Bianca paused, then continued. "You have messages. One thousand and two emails…" 

Varric winced, Bianca continued, nonplussed. "Most related to the Dwarven Financiers Union. Forty-two text messages, thirty-three missed calls, fifteen voicemails, and twenty secure messages from Bianca Davri and Hawke. You also have one-hundred and fifty direct messages to your personal Twitter account." 

Great. "Did that message go? The one we sent getting up here to the Ostwick number?"

"Number is registered to a prepaid cell phone account, but the number is associated in several online databases with a woman named Beatrix Cadash. The message was sent, she replied with eight messages of her own. Shall I display them on the tablet or read them?"

"I'll look at the tablet. Start running the filter on those emails to weed out the most useless ones." One thousand emails, Varric could shoot himself. He was sure ninety percent of them consisted of useless hand wringing about the sky falling open. He pulled his tablet from the inside pocket of his coat and unlocked it easily. The messages were already displayed next to the number Varric sent the first message to. 

_ Maria? Fuck it i've been trying to call _   
_ where are u? Where's Cole? _   
_ what do u mean if u don't come back _   
_ U need to come back _   
_ I can't do this without u plz come home _   
_ Fuck Dwyka and his fucking lyrium just come home _   
_ I won't leave here without u _ _   
I love u damnit _

Fuck. Varric swiped to bring up the keyboard and typed his own message in response. 

_ Your sister was hurt, but she's going to be alright. My name is Varric Tethras. _

The response he got back within seconds made him snort in amusement. 

_ Sure it is and i'm the bleeding divine _ _   
_ _ I want to talk to my sister now _

"Seeker, do you have someone down in Haven capable of soothing a frightened sibling?" Varric asked, tucking the tablet away. He'd send pictures, maybe, after they got their savior all cleaned up. Possibly a selfie of himself, just to prove the point. 

"Yes. Josephine would handle that, I imagine. Is that… is that who she wanted to speak to? A sibling?" Cassandra looked up from Maria's form and met his eyes, holding them as she rested one set of her fingertips against Maria's shoulder almost gently. He hadn’t realized the Seeker was capable of gentle. 

Varric nodded. "Yeah. I'd guess a younger sister, judging by the marching orders. Older siblings have that natural bossy tendency." 

"I had an older brother." Cassandra said simply, tearing her eyes from Varric's. He pretended not to notice the shining gloss of tears in them. 

He had an older brother too, once. 

Solas slept in the low armchair next to the bed they deposited Maria Cadash in. Although her name was a tightly held secret, so far, the news that a sole survivor, rumored to be a dwarven woman, had single-handedly saved Haven spread like wildfire. 

It was _ trending _on Twitter, for fucks sake. #HeraldofHaven, #ApocolypseMiracle, #WhoIsShe He'd read them off to a skeptical Solas before falling asleep himself on the spare couch downstairs. When he woke up, there was little change in her condition, but the legend seemed to be gathering steam of its own volition judging by the continued avalanche on social media. 

"Bianca Davri on the line." The AI chimed while Varric scrolled. "She's insistent that if you don't take her call this time she's pulling my plug."

Bianca's ultimate bargaining chip. He sighed in defeat and pushed the tablet away from him, resting his elbows on the coffee table. "Put her through."

The earpiece beeped. "Bianca." He greeted roguishly, leaning forward on his elbows and rubbing his forehead. "How's Orlais?"

"Faring better than Ferelden, I hear." Bianca snapped out immediately. "Do I even want to know how you get into these messes? Between you and Hawke it's like a disaster movie in slow motion." 

"Hey, Hawke isn't trending anymore." Varric pointed out. "Hashtag find Hawke dropped out of the top twenty for the first time in weeks. Do you think she'll be thrilled?"

"Hardly." Bianca muttered. "Ancestors, Varric, what happened there? Telecommunications were out in a fifty mile radius and they're reporting casualties in the hundreds. Stock _ plummeted _because people thought you were dead."

"Bit insulting to you and Hawke, isn't it?" Varric joked weakly. "You two are the brains. I'm just the chest hair." 

"Hawke is on the run, Varric! You were presumed dead, I was _ alone _ and…"

"What about what's-his-name? Where's he?" Varric asked suspiciously, rubbing his temple to ease the sudden pressure. "Don't tell me he left you hanging in this shitstorm.” 

"Bogdan is in Nevarra scoping out new locations for a factory. If you read your emails, you'd know this." Bianca claimed, exasperated. "You're lucky I don't fly right to Haven now and kick your ass, you know. You had me worried sick, your last message…"

Bianca trailed off, the rest of her sentence unsaid and weighing heavy on the line. Varric swallowed the lump in his throat. There was too much history there to unpack in this one phone call. Too many bitter truths and unhappy lies. "I miss you.” Bianca said instead. “Come to Orlais and ride this out somewhere safe." 

Tempting offer, even when he tried to keep a continent between him and Bianca at all times to keep them from repeating the same stupid mistakes. Varric frowned. "There was red lyrium at the temple, Bianca. I've got to… it's my mess. I let it out into the world." 

"You didn't know. Bartrand…" Bianca's immediate answer. But Varric _ did _ know Bartrand was a greedy son of a bitch. He couldn't have anticipated what they found, but he knew Bartrand would try to make a profit off it because that's what his elder brother did. No matter how you cut it, Varric was responsible, the demon wearing Hawke’s face hadn’t been wrong about that.

"Do me a favor and see if you can put feelers out? Try to figure out how it got here." Varric wouldn't leave until he knew. "Until then… you can at least tell the investors I'm still kicking."

"I'll do some research." Bianca promised. "But don't think you're getting off this call without giving me something else. The rumors flying around… they say a _ dwarf _ stopped the world from ending."

"Her name's Maria." Varric supplied with a shit eating grin. "Maria Cadash. Carta, from Ostwick."

Bianca whistled low. "Well, I'm sure the humans are loving that." 

Varric chuckled and leaned back, shaking his head. He told her everything, his voice spinning the tale from beginning to end while Bianca listened, enraptured.

“Hey, before you go…” The thought dawned on him immediately. “Can you overnight me one of our new phones ready to use?” 

“If I can find a courier crazy enough to try and get to Haven, sure.” Bianca promised. “Stay safe Varric. Don’t make me worry over you again.” 

xx 

Maria Cadash woke up with a splitting headache and a parched throat. She opened her eyes blearily, staring at the stucco ceiling up above her. Sunlight streamed through the windows across the room, illuminating it. Clean, she thought groggily, but sparse and impersonal like an airbnb. An airbnb that happened to have an IV in it, one that was hooked into her arm. 

She lifted herself up and let the comforter fall down her chest, revealing a loose blue tank top that definitely didn’t belong to her. It was a hundred times nicer than anything she ever owned, both soft and luxurious, smelling of lavender. She was also wearing unfamiliar, but comfortable, black leggings. 

She raised her eyes suspiciously back to the room, zeroing in on small details. A blanket discarded over an armchair, a book on the floor nearby. She peered into the stillness, trying to hear something. Anything. 

It was a dream, it must have been. There was no way anything she remembered actually happened. Obviously, she’d been in some kind of accident, or she’d gotten sick, and this was all some weird narcotic inspired trip. She turned her attention to the IV on her arm, briskly ripping the tape from her arm before slowly withdrawing the needle and leaving it hanging from the machine. It beeped as if she’d irritated it, so she reached behind it and quickly unplugged it, scowling. 

The fast motion made her head swim and she had to stop, cradling her face in on hand, putting pressure on the needle mark with her other hand, elbows on her knees. “Damnit.” She swore softly. 

“You’re awake!” 

She looked over at the stairs, the elf wearing scrubs stood on the steps, mouth hanging open agog before her eyes flicked to the unplugged IV. “You… you can’t just unhook your IV, ma’am!” 

Maria begged to differ, because she definitely had. Still, she shrugged weakly. “Sorry.” 

The nurse, or at least Maria assumed she was a nurse, continued to stare until Maria frankly began to feel uncomfortable. She fidgeted at the edge of the bed. “Can… can I go?” 

“No!” The woman blurted out, looking absolutely stricken. “No! Please don’t… I’m sorry ma’am. I didn’t mean to offend you. Please, stay here. I’ll go get Seeker Pentaghast and we’ll get some food sent for you. Please don’t strain yourself!” 

Maria couldn’t help but blink in shocked silence, staring as the woman ran back down the steps. She thought she heard a door slam shut downstairs. What in the void… 

Still holding pressure on her puncture mark, she slipped from the bed onto the solid hardwood floor, feeling them creak beneath her feet. She stepped forward to the stairs slowly, cautiously… 

She still wasn’t prepared for the blonde head that appeared at the foot of the steps with amber eyes that swung immediately in her direction. 

Holy fuck, that _ was _ Varric Tethras, and he was grinning at her rougishly as if he’d never been happier to see anyone. “Princess! You’re awake!” 

She died, that was the only explanation. Anything else would be too fucking weird. As if reading her thoughts, Varric opened his arms wide as he climbed the steps. “Better than the last place you woke up, right? Look, nobody even thought to handcuff you this…” He stopped, tipped his head to the side as he looked at her arm. “Did she take your IV out and forget to get you a bandage?” 

“I took it out.” She may as well confess. “And the nurse ran away.” 

Varric chuckled warmly, his voice as rich as expensive coffee laced with caramel. “Right, why would you do anything normal like wait for a medical professional to take out your IV? Hold on a second.” 

He veered off to the side, opening up a drawer. Someone had dumped a mish-mash of medical supplies into it, syringes, pill bottles, rolls of gauze… “Is there advil in there?” She asked hopefully. 

Within seconds, Varric turned back to her with a familiar bottle in one hand and a bright red bandage in the other that matched her hair near perfectly. “Allow me. I may not look it, but I’m a dwarf of many talents and I’ve helped clean up after many a brawl.” 

She didn’t particularly want to smile, but she did anyway. Still, she watched seriously as he applied the band-aid to her skin before placing the advil in her hand. “If you’re ready to venture downstairs, I’ll even get you a glass of water.” 

She suspected she needed something far stronger than water, but she didn’t want to say so. Instead, she swallowed the nervous, sick feeling in her stomach and schooled her expression into something neutral. “What happened? Can I go?” 

She wanted to go home, that was all. Just find Cole, go home, go to bed, and not leave it for a month at least. Varric’s smile dropped and he looked sympathetic. “Right.” He began. “So, easy question first I guess. Yes, I think you could leave if you wanted to, I don’t think anyone’s gonna stop you. I’m not sure you’re medically sound or, you know, safe if you leave but… yeah, I guess you could.” 

“That was your answer to the easy question?” She asked, raising her fingertips to her lips anxiously.

“Well, Princess…” Varric began smoothly. “I’m not entirely sure _ anyone _ knows what the fuck is going on anymore. It looks like you nearly died twice, saved the damn world, and accidentally became the figure head for a religious movement, but that sounds crazy even to me so I can’t imagine how it sounds to you.” 

Her eyes must’ve been the size of dinner plates. She waited for him to laugh, to give away the joke, but he seemed utterly sincere. “What?” She asked, the word coming out strangled. 

“C’mon, beautiful.” Varric said gently, and Maker, she wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than him calling her princess but she suspected protesting would only encourage him. “Come downstairs, I’ll make you a cup of coffee, and I’ll try to help you sort this out before the Seeker barges in.” 

The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could reign them in, a panicked plea. “I want to talk to my sister.”

“Alright.” He said softly, soothingly. He reached slowly into his jacket pocket, swiped to unlock the screen of his phone and handed it to her. “Here, just… if you decide to bail out the window, leave it on the bed. I’ll wait downstairs.” 

She nodded, fighting the urge to clutch the phone to her chest as he turned his back to her and vanished down into the lower level. Maria turned quickly away, jabbing at the phone screen with fingers that wouldn’t stop trembling. Varric Tethras’s phone, obviously, was much nicer than hers, but a phone was a phone and it only took her a couple seconds to punch in the number.

It rang once, twice. She began to pray fervently that Bea wasn’t sleeping, Maria didn’t even know what time it was, what day it was, when the phone clicked and her sister’s voice answered, quick and fierce. “Hello? Tethras?” 

Her knees went almost weak with relief, even if she had to suppress the hysterical surge of laughter because _ Bea _knew Varric Tethras’s phone number now. Everything was so surreal she had to sit down heavily on the bed. “Bea.” She sighed. “Bea, it’s me.” 

“Maria!” Bea exclaimed, voice raw with emotion. “Oh thank fucking Andraste. I’ve been talking to that woman, the Antivan, and Tethras sent me pictures, and I did get a hold of Cole but he’s fucking crazy as ever and I’ve no clue what he’s doing…” 

Maria heard familiar commotion in the background. Traffic outside the apartment they shared, the yowl of a stray cat. She choked on her tears. “I don’t know if I’ve met an Antivan.” She confessed. “I’m so glad Cole’s okay, Bea, I…”

“They told me what happened. It’s all over the damn news.” Bea’s breath was harsh, her words sharp. “Maria what the hell… how the fuck did you…” 

“I don’t know.” She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t… “I’m coming home, okay? I’ll find Cole and be back in a couple days and…” 

“Maria.” Bea interrupted, her voice flinty and cold. “I don’t think it’s going to be that easy, everyone says… and even if it is… Dwyka’s pissed. I’m not sure if he thinks you ran off with his lyrium or if he thinks you’re dead and is just mad that he wasn’t the one to do it…” 

“How do you know?” Maria asked quickly. Bea’s silence was telling. “He came around.” Maria guessed shrewdly. 

“Yesterday, but I let him scream outside the door, I didn’t open it.” Bea admitted. “I’m fine, I can handle Dwyka.

No she couldn’t, and Maria knew it. “Listen, just stay the fuck out of his way, okay? I’ll handle it.” 

“You have enough problems.” Bea muttered. “Please, Maria just listen to me…” 

“Stay out of it, Bea.” Maria warned. “I’ll be home soon. I promise.” 

“Maria!” Bea protested, but Maria had already pulled the phone from her ear, blood thrumming in her head viciously, aggravating the headache. She dialed the next number, pressed send and popped the phone back to her ear as she ripped the cap from the bottle of advil and popped two in her mouth, swallowing without water as the phone went to voicemail. 

Anger had replaced fear, fury taking over homesickness. “Listen here, Dwyka.” She whispered harshly into the phone. “My phone is fucking shot, so don’t you dare call this number back and get me fucking arrested. I didn’t fucking _ steal _ your lyrium and you know it. I fucking _ told _ you this was a mistake, and you didn’t listen, so you leave my sister alone, Dwyka. We have a deal and I swear if you touch my family, I’ll end you.” 

With that, she pulled the phone away and pressed the red button to end the call, swiping quickly to the call history and deleting the number. She had the fight the urge to toss it at the nearest wall. Her fingers were still shaking, but she clutched the anger tightly as if it were a lifevest and she was sinking. Hell, anger could keep her alive and she needed to stay alive, needed to get back home. She knew that better than she knew anything else. She took a deep breath, focused herself on the present. One mess at a time, she thought. First, she needed to figure out what had happened and how to extract herself. 

By the time the Seeker arrived, Varric already patiently explained _ everything _ they knew. It wasn’t much, but it was something. They had put together a rough timeline of the night the temple exploded based on security footage of _ her _ movements. She’d passed through the security checkpoint, a few other cameras, the last one capturing her had been outside a cheap pizza place. Varric showed her the stills, and yes, it was her. She recognized the jacket, Cole’s hat pulled over her hair even in grainy black and white, but she didn’t remember it. She didn’t remember any of it. 

Any footage from the temple had been destroyed. Whatever happened up there was a mystery. All anyone knew was that they’d pulled her out of the spiraling column of magic and smoke, near dead. Then she’d walked back into it, preventing it from growing larger and continuing to spit out the things of nightmares. People called her a hero. People were calling her a damn miracle, a Herald of the Maker himself. When Varric told her that, she’d laughed until her head hurt again and tears leaked from her eyes. 

Varric had aerial pictures of the mountain, the giant crater, the swirling vortex. Despite the fact that he kept saying she’d been there when it exploded, she couldn’t believe it. She’d have died. 

“Do you feel differently?” Cassandra asked, almost politely. The woman put Maria’s jacket and Cole’s hat down on the table, but no boots, not her jeans or her shirt. They must have been unsalvageable. 

Truthfully, she did feel… odd. The headache seemed to have abated, but there was a pressure against her forehead that wouldn’t ease. She also felt a… tingling in her fingertips between her bare skin and the surfaces she touched, particularly the phone and the tablet. Like two electric forces trying to overpower each other. 

When she looked at that vortex, she thought she could feel it in her teeth. 

“Maybe.” She shrugged, refusing to unwrap her hands from the mug of coffee in front of her to allow the warmth to bleed into her fingers. In the kitchen, she heard Varric talking as if to himself, engaged in some sort of conversation with the computer in his ear about _ emails _.

She slouched further down into the comfortable, faded couch and swung her feet up, covered in thick woolen socks, onto the coffee table while maintaining steady eye contact with the Seeker. “I’d like to go home.” 

“I cannot advise you do so, although it is your choice.” The Seeker perched precariously on the edge of the opposing couch. “The people say you are chosen by the Maker and Andraste, but the Seekers and the Templars say you are responsible for the murder of the Divine and that you should be executed via court marshal for war crimes.” 

No trial, then, and a very quaint firing squad. Maria ignored the chill down her spine. “I didn’t do it.” 

“I believe you.” Cassandra stated seriously, leaning forward. There was a folder clutched in her hands tightly. “But others… your identity is starting to leak, and your criminal background is available.” 

Maria didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to, apparently. Cass opened the folder and looked down awkwardly. “You have been convicted of several misdemeanors. Shoplifting, vandalism, illegal possession of lyrium, disturbing the peace…” 

“That disturbing the peace one is bullshit.” That one still rankled. “I was minding my own business…”

“You were involved in a bar brawl.” Cassandra scowled over the folder in disapproval. 

“Everyone was involved in the brawl, Seeker. That’s why they call it a brawl and not a fight.” 

From the kitchen, she heard Varric chuckle. She wasn’t sure whether he’d heard her or if his computer was reading off funny memes to him. 

“All in all, you have not been convicted of anything violent or extremely serious.” The Seeker mused quietly. “Unusual for a flagged gang member. You are a known associate of the leader of the Ostwick Carta.” 

At least she didn’t say girlfriend. She’d heard that a couple times too many and it never failed to absolutely ruin her day. She raised her eyebrow as if asking Cassandra for her point. When she didn’t say anything, Cassandra looked down at the file awkwardly. 

She knew it was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier when the words came out of the Seeker’s mouth. “You were arrested for murder eight years ago in Hercinia and put on trial.” 

She placed the coffee mug heavily down on the table by her feet, the fingers of her right hand reaching to stroke the tattoo on her left wrist. 

“I was found not guilty.” She knew the words by rote. “By a jury of my peers.” 

“Yes.” Cassandra agreed, looking back up at her with blazing eyes. “And the records of the trial were sealed, which is unusual.” 

“I had a very good lawyer.” She answered immediately. She could feel her pulse under the tattoo, felt the headache returning with a vengeance. “And I was cleared.” 

“Were you innocent?” 

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been innocent, but that wasn’t the answer the Seeker wanted. Her throat tightened and she couldn’t… she couldn’t talk about this. Not here, not with this fucking stranger and her pointed face and her hole in the universe. “I’m not supposed to answer questions about this. My lawyer doesn’t like it.” 

She stood in one fluid, quick movement, grabbing her coffee mug rather than see the surge of disappointment in the other woman’s face. “I’m sure a quick google search would get you all the seedy details, Seeker. Have at it because I need some more advil.” 

With that, she stomped back up the stairs, the silence heavy in the small house. She didn’t like to admit it, but maybe Bea was right. Maybe this would be a whole hell of a lot harder to wiggle out of that she anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not love at first sight, but it's definitely lust.


	6. The Bookworm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria reveals that she is smarter than she appears.   
Varric finds Cole.

Nobody followed Maria upstairs and she was fiercely, spitefully glad. She couldn’t bear any more pointed politeness or cozy, patient coddling. She wanted to yell, to scream, to throw things and…  _ fuck _ her head throbbed. She collapsed in the armchair next to the bed, buried her head in her arms and took a deep, shuddering breath. Was this a migraine? Did she fucking get  _ migraines _ now? 

She was too damn old for this. 

A small part of her, a younger, softer part of her, wanted to wail and screech and tear out her hair in despair. It wasn’t fair, she hadn't wanted to hurt anyone. All she wanted to do, all she ever fucking wanted to do, was take care of her family. Tears pricked at her eyes and she squeezed them tightly shut.

She  _ wasn’t _ going to cry. Crying wouldn’t fix anything. She raised her hand to her eyes, prepared to rub them briskly, but her elbow caught the book that sat on the armrest, sending it spilling to the ground with a heavy thud that seemed even louder in the empty room. She looked down at the thick book, uncurling her body just enough to reach and grab it, and peered at the cover. 

She didn’t recognize the cover, the edition must have been different than the one she borrowed from the big public library in Ostwick years earlier, but she remembered the title. She stared at the words, reading it over and over again.  _ History of Madness by Michel Foucault _ . It was apt, she may as well find this in the crazy mess she fell into. Someone was using a ticket stub as a bookmark, placed more than two-thirds through it. 

“I am afraid, Miss Cadash, that is significantly heavier reading than I would recommend during your recovery.” 

She hadn’t heard him come up the stairs and she nearly jumped out of her skin, squinting up over the book in her hand to meet the elf standing on top of the stairs, balancing a tray with a steaming mug and what smelled like breakfast. Her traitorous stomach rumbled. 

“I already read it.” She said dismissively, sitting the book down on the armrest as nonchalantly as possible. The elf raised one sculpted eyebrow in what she assumed was disbelief. She splayed her hand over the book cover as if it were hers. “Foucault’s first major work. He traced the evolving meaning of madness in culture, medicine, the law… he concluded that structures of power use the term insanity to label and exclude undesirable elements of our society.” 

If the elf had hair, his eyebrows would have vanished into it, but he was smiling apologetically. “Ah, and your opinions on the matter, Miss Cadash?” His tone turned serious, thoughtful. 

“Don’t trust anyone wearing a white coat with a clipboard.” She advised, unable to keep the sly, self-satisfied smile from her lips. “Particularly if they try to tell you that you’re bonkers.” 

Solas chuckled quietly, holding the tray up like it was a peace offering. “I admit, I did not expect you to be so well read. I remember you recognized Mister Tethras from his books, but… I do not believe many of his fans also delve into sociology or philosophy.” 

“Hard in Hightown is all about philosophy.” She wasn’t sure  _ why _ she felt the need to defend the novel, but she’d already started. “It goes to the root of the nature of mortality. Do we all strive for personal advancement or the glory of our cause? Which is the higher purpose?” 

Solas’s smile tipped up even further. “I admit, I have not read it. I was put off by… a very vivid excerpt involving a brothel. I assumed it was simple self-gratuitous smut and violence.” 

“There isn’t  _ anything _ simple about smut and violence.” She teased, watching a bit of color pop into the elf’s pale skin. She fought the instinctive urge to chase it and see just how red she could turn the man before he fled back down the steps. She owed him, after all. “Varric said you saved my life but I didn’t get a chance to thank you.” 

“We should be thanking you.” Solas declared calmly, sitting the tray on the other armrest precariously. “Please, eat. I imagine you have questions and I am the mage most familiar with the veil here. I have a working theory of what has happened and how it can be put right.” 

The tray was loaded with eggs, sausage, bacon, a waffle dripping with golden syrup, and a bowl of oatmeal. It was more food than she’d ever eaten in one sitting but the smell of it all made her ravenous. She settled it into her lap immediately and picked up a fork, cutting into the sweet smelling waffle first as Solas settled himself on the foot of the bed she’d woken up in. 

“The fact that you survived the vortex not once, but twice, is nothing short of miraculous. Tell me, Miss Cadash, what do you know of magic?” 

“Maria.” She corrected hastily, swallowing the waffle. “Please… please stop calling me Miss Cadash. It makes me sound like a school teacher. I’m  _ not _ cut out for that line of work.” 

“Maria.” Solas repeated as if tasting her name before nodding once. “I will try. I apologize if I forget.” 

He was so oddly formal, like someone out of an old book. Was he Dalish? He didn’t have the tattoos, but no elf living in the city  _ ever _ talked like that. She didn’t ask, despite her curiosity. “I was always told to stay away from magic, that it was dangerous. I’ve met a handful of free witches, bought some enchanted things off them, worked a job or two alongside them, but… I don’t know anything about how they work.” 

Nanna said that magic was a curse for humans and elves, the dwarves were lucky to escape it. Solas nodded as if unsurprised. “The veil separates our world from the Fade. Most may see into it, but none may cross over. The veil is a wall, keeping us out.” 

“Why not call it a wall then?” Maria asked in between another bite of waffle. “I guess it’s less dramatic than veil, but…” 

Solas’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Perhaps. But, the wall is not as solid for some as it is for others. Some creatures are born with the ability to see through it, and it is simply one step from seeing to grasping, pushing through and bringing something back from the other side.” 

Solas paused, picking up a spare fork on her plate and holding it up. “Have you heard that all matter is made of particles? That you, this fork, myself, every object in this room is made up of atoms so small, all vibrating together? Constant energy, even in the most still of things.” 

She thought she remembered something like that from science class. She nodded, digging for the information through the back of her mind. “Yes. Something about… physics?” 

Hard science was  _ not _ her forte. She preferred English, literature, sociology and psychology. Fynn used to…

She choked on the emotion, hid it carefully. She didn’t want to think about Fynn, not now. This was important, she needed to pay attention. 

Solas nodded, approving. “Yes. It is theorized that the people born with magic are vibrating at a different frequency which allows them to reach through the seemingly solid veil.” 

As she watched, she saw that Solas  _ was _ making the fork vibrate ever so slightly. She could even hear a small hum from it. “And they pull their magic from the other side, and then use it… do things like this?” 

“Or weave spells. Some create the enchanted items you purchased, others tell fortunes or consult with spirits. All of that, and more, is possible. Those that vibrate more strongly are more in tune with the fade than others. Some with magic are what they call kitchen witches, barely capable of brewing up a solid enchantment. Others are capable of destruction of the magnitude that can level cities.” 

Maria remembered the news footage from Kirkwall, the ruined city blocks where a grand cathedral once stood. Outside her window, the vortex spun leisurely above the ruins of the ancient temple. “And they can pull demons through?” 

“Yes.” Solas said quietly, his gaze turning sympathetic. “You had never seen one before? It is a frightening experience, but you were admirably brave.” 

She had seen demons wearing the flesh of people, but nothing like those monsters. The bite of eggs she’d taken suddenly seemed dry and stuck in her throat. Solas continued on, nonplussed. “Demons sometimes come through on their own, as well, but it is rare. Most spirits and demons are called by a witch or warlock to become their familiar. They often take the shapes of animals. I believe the Champion of Kirkwall has a familiar that is a rather large dog.” 

“Do you have one?” She asked curiously. Solas smiled again, patient, and wrapped his fingers around the bone hanging from his neck. 

“Yes, but mine is not bound to a physical form.” He admitted quietly. “Perhaps I will introduce you someday, if you would like me to.” 

Why the hell not? It wasn’t like any of this could get more bizarre. She gestured to his fork with her own. “So, are you trying to tell me I’m vibrating now? Because I definitely feel different.” 

“Different how?” Solas asked, thoughtfully stroking the bone. 

“I feel… something in my fingers when I touch things.” She admitted. “A buzzing. It’s more noticeable with electronics.” 

Solas nodded once as if she’d confirmed his suspicions. “Yes. That would make sense. All magic users can feel… some disturbance with technology. Typically right after casting a spell, or if they are attempting to use both at the same time. Like placing a call and lighting a candle.” 

“Don’t multitask and cast?” Maria joked, placing her fork down nervously. She was beginning to feel a whole lot less hungry. “They should embroider that on pillows or something.” 

“Perhaps.” Solas watched her with those sharp, nearly predatory eyes. He didn’t miss the way she rubbed her wrist, a gesture meant to soothe her when she felt this much on pins and needles. If she could survive what happened with Fynn, she could survive anything, she reminded herself. 

“Why do I feel like this?” She managed to keep her voice neutral but it was a struggle. 

“Whatever happened at the temple altered you. I suspect the matter that makes you shifted, changed. Prior to the first attempt to seal the vortex, your molecules were vibrating at such a pace that it nearly ripped you apart at the seams.” Solas redirected her attention to the fork he held. She noticed it was vibrating even quicker, the hum a strange, eerie music not unlike a piano chord lingering in the air. “Now, the vortex is calm and you are more stable. Still, you are at a frequency that makes you more attuned to the veil now than any other living creature. There is power inside of you that will not rest easily. I confess, I am unsure what you are capable of nor do I know the long term effects of what you have endured. I only know that you still are the only hope for ridding the world of that scar above us.” 

As quickly as it had started, the fork stopped vibrating and he placed it down gently. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. “I’m just a Carta rat from Ostwick. This can’t be happening to me.” 

He looked sympathetic but he nodded firmly as if he were a professor and she a favored student. “I must ask that you consider staying here for the time being and assisting with this endeavor. I cannot guarantee that no harm will come to you, but I promise I will stay by your side and do my utmost to make sure you survive, Miss Cadash.” 

“Maria.” She corrected again automatically.

Solas smiled. “Maria.” He repeated, gently. “A fine name for a fine woman, I suspect. I think it will be remembered fondly.” 

xx

Cassandra blew back in with the same vengeance with which she’d stormed out when Solas informed her, tersely, that she was not helping matters. That had been hours ago. Now her pointed face and bright eyes were focused on him like a laser while Varric was in a rather compromising conversation via his earpiece. Thankfully, the Seeker didn’t seem to realize  _ who _ he’d been talking to. She assumed, probably, it was Bianca. 

“What do you mean they left?” Cassandra asked, voice dripping menace as if it were venom. He looked up, irritated. 

“Sorry. I thought we were both speaking the same language. Do you want me to mime it?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. Inside his earpiece, he could hear the  _ breathless  _ excitement like it was palpable. 

“Oh she sounds like a  _ peach _ Varric!” Hawke whispered in excitement. “Is she the grumpy Seeker? Please tell me that’s the grumpy Seeker.” 

He barely contained his smirk. Cassandra was turning a satisfactorily color of red. “Where did they go?” She continued, undeterred by his sarcasm. 

Varric shrugged nonchalantly and looked back down at his tablet. “Seeker, I didn’t realize I was babysitting. I thought you said the lady was free as a bird.” Not that it mattered, he’d have let her breeze out with Solas regardless. Something about the Seeker interrogating Maria about her checkered past annoyed Varric, caused the same instinct that made him shelter his friends burst to life. And the Seeker had been too proud to run the Google search…

But Varric hadn’t. He’d done it almost as soon as Maria stormed upstairs, welcomed the distraction from the rest of his emails. It hadn’t taken him very long. He had the name, he had the year, he had the place. 

The details in the paper were sparse, the Free Marches had some of the strictest closed trial rules around. No reporter ever set foot in a courtroom, they all had to wait breathless outside. Still, it had been a sensation at the time and made it into nearly every major paper in Thedas. He couldn’t believe he missed the whole shitstorm until he looked at the dates. 

The actual murder happened the same day he dived into the mines trying to find Hawke with Broody and Blondie. By the time the four of them made it out, they’d been just in time to confront Sunshine getting pulled into the Gallows. Varric was stuck dealing with that, the hollow place where Bartrand had been, and all the complications of dealing with being stabbed in the back by his only brother. 

A naked conga line of beautiful women could have been making their way through the Free Marches that week, but Varric probably wouldn’t have even looked up from the mountain of paperwork and his never-full-enough mug of beer. 

The news reported several facts. Fynn Dunhark had been a  _ golden _ boy, heir to a fortune, top of his class at the prestigious university in Ostwick. Somehow the man found himself leaving his cushioned life behind to slum it in a cheap tenement apartment in Hercinia. 

Varric  _ suspected _ the young man had found himself enamoured with a very fine set of curves, a sinful smile, and piercing stormy eyes, but that was just an educated guess. 

Then Fynn Dunhark had died, shot in that poor neighborhood in Hercinia, miles away from his sheltered upbringing in Ostwick. He was declared dead when paramedics arrived and the only other person in the house was a woman with known gang ties, a rap sheet filled with petty crime, possessing one illegal firearm. Everyone drew their own conclusions pretty quickly. Varric himself didn’t know if he could paint a more damning picture. 

In fact, it was  _ too _ tidy.

Varric had a chance to watch her while he tried to break down the events of the last four days for her. She didn’t have the air of a woman who killed in cold blood. She also had one nervous habit that he kept noticing. Whenever she was mulling over a piece of information that caused her concern, she traced her thumb up and down the arrow tattoo on her left wrist. It was a nervous habit that he found endearing. Varric remembered the initials inked into her skin, FD and MC. It looked like he’d been spot on about it being a lover’s tattoo. 

Varric would also bet money that the woman wasn’t just  _ found _ innocent, but that she was actually innocent. Her reaction, prickly as it was, didn’t seem designed to hide anything. It looked to him more like a coping mechanism, an escape rope out of a painful situation. 

He wouldn’t like it if people kept asking him if he’d murdered a former lover either. Maker, she couldn’t have been older than much older than Hawke was. She must’ve been a damn kid when Fynn Dunhark was shot. He was a couple years older than her, but he had felt like a little kid the minute he realized what Bartrand did. 

The same damn day. What a coincidence. He’d told Hawke the same thing, and she’d responded with a mysterious ‘no such thing as coincidences, Varric.’ 

Damn witches. 

“You will help me find them.” Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest and glared down at him. Hawke snickered in his ear. 

“You heard the woman, Varric.” Hawke whispered through the earpiece. “What do they say to dogs to get them going? Mush?” 

It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t make a proper retort and let the Seeker know who he was talking to. “Can it wait a minute? I’ve still got four-hundred emails to get through.” 

Hawke laughed quietly. “As if you ever answer your emails, you dirty, lying dwarf.” 

“Now!” Cassandra demanded. 

“Well, sweetheart.” Varric drawled as if he was talking to Bianca, placing one finger up to his headset. “You heard the lady. I guess all this unfinished business will just have to wait.” 

“I’ll look into the red lyrium, Varric.” Hawke promised softly. “Be safe. Call me the second you need me.” 

With that, the line disconnected. Bianca’s voice slipped smoothly back in. “Would you like me to continue pulling articles for Maria Cadash from this time frame regarding the incident? I can aggregate them.” 

“See if you can pull the official records.” Varric directed, sitting up and depositing his empty mug in the kitchen sink. “Through proper channels first, put a request in.” 

“What are you up to, dwarf?” Cassandra asked suspiciously. Varric affected wide-eyed innocence. 

“Research, Seeker.” He grinned rakishly and shrugged his shoulders as if helpless. “You heard me say ‘go through proper channels’, didn’t you? Don’t glare at me.” 

Cassandra continued to look at him as if he were something she’d scrape off the bottom of her shoe. Varric paused, looking up at her slyly. He couldn’t resist. “Well, I guess you haven’t  _ stopped  _ glaring at me this whole time, have you? Carry on, then.” 

One hour later and Varric was  _ really _ wishing he’d been paying better attention when Solas and Maria clomped down stairs. Honestly, he’d been nearly caught staring at articles about her, things he didn’t think she’d appreciate, so he had been more than glad she didn’t bother with more than a wave in his direction before vanishing. 

But it was fucking cold outside and the woman seemed to be nowhere and everywhere all at once. It was almost like she had clones of herself running around because everyone  _ swore _ they’d seen her, all with the same dewy-eyed excitement, all of them pointing in different directions. 

The only good news was that he could practically see the steam coming out of Cassandra’s ears. “I will go and search by the chantry. Again.” She stated, disgust rippling through the words. “If you find her, tell her I need to see her. Urgently.” 

Somehow, he didn’t think that tone of voice would work on Maria Cadash, but he wasn’t gonna argue with Cassandra when she looked so particularly murderous. He watched her, amused, until she vanished around the street corner, nearly knocking over a teenage girl with headphones stuck in her ears. 

“She wants you to sign this.” 

He turned, startled, to the kid holding out the book insistently. He carried  _ two _ bags, a worn backpack slung over his shoulders and a messenger bag hanging on his hip. Hair so blonde it was almost as long as Fenris’s hung in choppy bangs, obscuring eyes Varric thought were pale. His gloves were ripped, fingers exposed, and he had a switchblade jutting from the pocket of his tattered jeans. Interesting, Varric thought. Weapons were definitely still being seized when people came into Haven. 

“Sure kid.” He shook the spooky feeling, reaching out to take the hardcover. It was worn, the corners rounded, spine well broken. This was a book that was loved, cherished, read and reread. He looked down to see the cover of his Hard in Hightown series staring up at him.

“This one is her favorite.” The kid continued, blinking owlishly. “She reads it on the bad nights when she can’t sleep. Pretends she’s somewhere else. Someone else.” 

Something tightened in his chest. “Glad to help. I think.” 

“You do!” The kid smiled, soft. “Kind. Like she is. Even when it’s hard.”

Well, Varric was sure he’d had stranger conversations even if he couldn’t remember them off hand. He should introduce this odd boy to Daisy, maybe they’d hit it off and have perfectly insane conversations together the rest of their lives. “Who’s this for?” Varric had a pen in his coat pocket and he pulled it out, uncapping it with his teeth and opening it to the inside cover. 

“Maria.” The boy said as if it was completely, utterly obvious. Varric looked up again, peering suspiciously into the boy’s joyful face. 

“Maria Cadash?” He questioned. The kid nodded, beaming.

Maria had come to Haven with someone else, her sister had said so. A young man she rescued off the streets of Ostwick, one that tagged along almost everywhere. One that nobody had been able to find. “Cole?” Varric guessed. 

“Yes?” The kid questioned back. “But don’t write my name in the book. It’s for her, remember?” 

Bea warned Ruffles the kid wasn’t quite right in the head. “Hey, I think Maria will just be happy to see you. Let’s go find her and we’ll worry about the book in a bit.” 

“I can’t!” Cole began to wring his hands. “Everything is wrong and she’s scared! The book will make her happy. And I have the perfume she likes, soft gloves the color of grass, keep her fingers warm. It’s cold here. Very cold. She doesn’t like to be cold. Her jacket is too thin, she didn’t eat anything. Left the money with me but I didn’t need it. I should have been here. I would have kept her safe.” 

Varric couldn’t help smiling. “Alright kid, I’ll sign the book and we’ll go find her.” 

“Thank you.” Cole seemed to sag in relief. “Maria Cadash. Do I need to spell it?” 

“No kid, I’ll figure it out.” Varric chuckled.

“Good. I only know how it sounds. Music when Bea laughs.” Cole admitted, shifting nervously. “You like her.” 

“Everyone likes her.” Varric knew the perfect thing to write in this book. His fingers flew over the page, leaving a brief, teasing note. 

_ Good to see your life was already full of weird people before we met, Princess. I’ll fit right in.  _ _   
_ _ Varric Tethras _

“Not everyone.” Cole muttered under his breath. Varric looked up, eyes narrowed, observing the kid in front of him. Before he could ask for clarification, a joyful shout pierced the air. Varric watched as Cole tipped forward from the impact of something into his back, pale arms wrapping around his narrow torso and hugging him fiercely from behind.

“Where have you been?” Maria Cadash asked, both irritated and relieved. She whirled Cole around to face her, took a step back so gray eyes could dart all over his face and body as if to reassure herself that yes, he was unharmed. “Bea’s been calling you!” 

“I answered.” Cole smiled, relaxing in the embrace. “I brought the things that make you happy.” 

“Cole, I don’t care about stuff.” Maria huffed, exasperated. She whipped the gray knit cap off her head and ruffled her red hair before she held it out. “Here, thanks for letting me borrow it.”

Cole beamed, took the cap and whirled to yank the book out of Varric’s hands, presenting it like a prized gift. “Here. I had to find him, but the Seeker was angry. I had to wait.” 

Varric folded his arms across his chest and watched, pleased, as the realization dawned on Maria’s face and she looked past Cole to him. There was no hiding the delicate pink flush that rose unbidden to Maria’s face as she snatched her book away from Cole. “Right. Got a great deal on this from a used bookstore, Tethras.” 

“No you didn’t.” Cole frowned. “It was new. You couldn’t wait for it to show up in a used bookstore, you had to read it right away.” 

Priceless. Varric allowed himself to wallow in the smugness and shameless appreciation of Maria’s pink cheeks deepening into crimson as she traced the worn corners of the book. 

“Right.” Maria repeated. “Thanks Cole. Helpful as always.” 

“The Seeker’s looking for you.” Varric would tease her mercilessly later just for the pleasure of seeing her eyes sparkle and skin color. He had so very few amusements up here, after all. “Said it was urgent.”

“Let me…” Maria started. 

Maria’s sentence was interrupted by a piercing shout, one that had all the people milling about in the street stopping to stare. “STEP AWAY FROM THAT CREATURE!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone want to take some guesses as to what exactly Cole is? ;-)


	7. The Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric begins to suspect Maria's past is a great deal darker than anyone has realized.   
Leliana knows almost everything about Maria and wants to help.

For a brief moment, Varric didn't actually understand what was happening. One second, he was thinking all about the way Maria Cadash colored in embarrassment, the sight both delightful and arousing. The next second, he was staring down the barrel of the Seeker's gun. Again. He felt vaguely annoyed that this was becoming a regular occurrence. 

"For fuck's sake." He muttered. "Seeker, stop waving that thing around. You're frightening the civilians." 

Maria said nothing, she simply moved to plant herself firmly between the Seeker and the young man behind her. She clutched the book, his book, tightly under one arm while she clenched her jaw. 

"No." Cole whispered, his skinny fingers reaching out to clutch a fistful of Maria's jacket. "I don't want to go."

"You're not going anywhere." Maria declared, tipping her head back to stare up at Cassandra. Somehow, her posture gave her the illusion of being nearly the same height as the Seeker. "Stop it. This is Cole, he came with me from Ostwick." 

"This?" Cassandra repeated, aghast. "This is your Cole?" 

"Seeker Pentaghast, that is enough." Solas pushed Cassandra's arm down impatiently, his face flushed with anger. "Miss Cadash, I did not realize we were searching for a spirit. Forgive me for assuming…"

Maria's change in expression was almost comical. She went from blazing anger to genuine bewilderment in a blink of an eye. Her gaze slipped from the Seeker to Solas and she opened her mouth, almost said something and bit it back before she actually said just one word. "Sorry?"

"You mean the kid is possessed?" Varric clarified helpfully for Maria's benefit. These two idiots kept forgetting how weird this shit was when you usually weren't up to your eyeballs in it. Hell, Varric had been chest hair deep for  _ years _ and he still couldn't get used to things like Merrill singing to her plants and them  _ actually  _ growing or the fact that he had Hawke's fucking spellbook stashed on Bianca's server. 

He reached for the glasses again, but Solas was already shaking his head. "No, Mister Tethras. The spirit in front of us is possessing no one."

"I'm me." Cole clarified, ducking his head and whispering. "Cole. Cole who brings coffee. Turns the oven off when Bea forgets."

Maria crossed her arms over her chest and tipped her chin up defiantly, this time aiming her disdain towards Solas. "He's not a demon. He was hurt when I found him, bleeding. Demons don't bleed."

"No." Cassandra did not relax, but she also didn't raise the revolver she carried from where it pointed at the pavement. "Not typically."

"Unless it is a familiar who has taken a physical form." Solas corrected gently. "Such as your friend has."

"That's crazy." Maria deflected. "That's… you people are fucking nuts." 

Varric agreed with Maria, albeit from a slightly more knowledgeable perspective. Familiars didn't create human shapes, for fucks sake. They were strictly animals, usually small ones. Merrill's was a tarantula, Hawke's a dog. They were spirits of virtues, persistence and bravery respectively for those two. Anders…

Well Anders had that damn tabby inhabited by vengeance. 

Varric slipped the glasses on his nose and activated the filter. He frowned at the immediate overstimulation, then swore. Well, shave his chest and call him an elf. "Princess. They're not wrong."

The kid  _ glowed _ just like Hawke's dog and the damn spider. "Not wrong." Cole repeated. "But  _ she  _ is. I don't hurt. Not like they do." 

Cole scowled at Cassandra's boots. Varric took the glasses off and handed them to Maria. "Here. Special filter my friend helped design, gonna make you feel like you've had a dozen too many, but you can see for yourself." 

Maria’s fingertips just brushed his as she gripped the thin frames and slipped the glasses onto her head. They tipped down her nose, the bridge too wide for her smaller features, and Maker she looked… 

Honestly, it was a  _ bit _ unfair. He put those damn things on and aged ten years, she put them on and instantly became every man’s fantasy librarian. It was made ten times better by the fact she had to push them back up as they slid down, the delicate silver metal accentuating those silverite colored eyes. 

“Right.” She blinked, eyes cartoonishly owlish beneath the lenses. “What are these? 3D movie glasses?” 

“More expensive.” Varric advised with a grin. “And much more fun, usually.” 

“Also illegal.” Cassandra’s brows drew together in abject disapproval. “Particularly if this is an unregistered enchanted product being marketed…” 

“This is just a prototype, Seeker.” Varric inserted smoothly. “Completely legitimate research and development by Rogue Technologies. We had all the proper permits to work with a licensed and regulated witch.”

He’d always had the proper permits, paid a small fortune for them. He hadn’t  _ always _ had a licensed and regulated witch, not until Hawke got outed anyway, but the permits meant if anything went south in Kirkwall at least the real Bianca wouldn’t face the blowback. 

“Holy shit.” Maria cursed, pulling the glasses down her nose to look over the rims at Cole, then pushing them back up and repeating herself quietly. “Holy  _ shit _ .”

“Cole?” Solas asked as Maria stared at the kid, completely and utterly flabbergasted. “How did you come to meet Miss Cadash?” 

“How did a familiar become separated from the enchanter who called it?” Cassandra demanded.

Cole shifted and stared down at his long fingers, frowning. “He died. The Lord Seeker killed them. He killed them all. The screams… we ran. We ran and ran and ran, but he hunted us. I couldn’t help them. I couldn’t… Rhys told me to keep going. Don’t look back. He was my friend.” 

Varric swallowed, hard. He didn’t recognize the name Rhys, but he had a solid guess that the event Cole was referring to was the massacre at the White Spire. Suspecting a rebellion in the ranks, one that was indeed brewing, the Lord Seeker had begun to cleanse the witches ensconced there. They fought back, some managing to flee, and that started the whole damn war. 

Well, Anders fucking started the whole damn war, really. But the Lord Seeker had a definite role too. 

“I took a boat with the others, but they were so angry. When the templars found them, they used their blood. I was frightened, so was the templar. He stuck me with his knife when they hexed his gun. The wound was deep. I ran from the blood. I ran and got on another boat. The man I sat next to was mad. I bled on his shoes.” 

Cole stopped, pale eyes flicking up to meet Maria’s speechless face. “But you were there. At the docks. Everyone else walked past, didn’t see me, didn’t want to see me. You took me home, stitched the wound while I sat in your bathtub, made hot chocolate out of the paper pack, put marshmallows in it and told me I was safe. But you needed more help than I did. Bruises on your wrists, silently screaming.”

That… did not sound good. That sounded, frankly, a bit alarming. 

“Yeah.” Maria’s voice was weak. “Yeah. I guess that’s how it happened, huh?” 

“I wanted to stay. With you. Safe because you keep people safe.” Cole muttered, reaching out to take Maria’s hand in his own. “Kind even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.” 

“We cannot have an unbound spirit wandering around Haven.” Cassandra at least holstered her weapon. “We must complete the proper ritual…” 

“He is unbound, but loyal.” Solas pressed forward. “He is a spirit of compassion, fragile yes, but invested in Miss Cadash.” 

“Maria.” Cole muttered. Maria’s answering choked laughter was a bit on the hysterical edge. 

“He wants to help. We should allow him to do so.” Solas urged.

“It is  _ highly _ irregular!” Cassandra complained, indicating Cole behind Maria’s back. “A familiar in a human shape! It should not have been done, this Rhys was messing with forces beyond his understanding.” 

“I wanted to be like Rhys.” Cole frowned. “Human. Helpful. Healing. Rhys was good. He helped people before he…” Cole stumbled to a stop, overcome with a strong emotion that battled his features, shaped them into something so sorrowful it broke Varric’s heart. 

“Hey, you don’t know for sure, kid.” Varric immediately felt the need to comfort the kid. “Lots of people got out of the Spire. Your friend might have made it.” 

“He needs to be returned to the fade.” Cassandra growled. “I will not be countermanded.” 

“No. I want to stay.” Cole stepped forward, pale eyes gleaming with tears. “Please. I’ll help, I promise. Comfort the sad, find the lost. I’ll help, I don’t want to go.”

“It is not…” Cassandra started. 

“No.” 

Maria hadn’t taken his glasses off yet, but she had pushed them back up her nose to, yes, make her look like a stern librarian ready to hand out more than just late fees. “No.” She repeated, her right hand clenched into a fist as she spoke. “Cole stays, if that’s what he wants.” 

“You do not give the orders here, Cadash.” Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest. “You have no experience with spirits, you have no right to…” 

“Cole stays or I go.” Maria persisted stubbornly, pointing over the Seeker’s shoulder at the swirling vortex in the distance. “And you  _ need _ me, don’t you?” 

Checkmate. Varric chuckled and relaxed his own stance, trying not to look like he was enjoying the play of expressions over the Seeker’s face too much. First, indignant fury. Then, a choking realization that, yes, Cassandra Pentaghast was  _ definitely _ going to have to concede this one to the Carta dwarf from Ostwick. He’d never get sick of watching the Seeker swallow her pride. 

“No!” Cole hissed quietly, reaching out for Maria’s shoulder and gripping it gently. “No! Not for me.” 

“Cole.” Maria warned, refusing to break her eye contact with the Seeker.

“You let people hurt you so other people won’t get hurt.” Cole whispered under his breath. “Not for me. Don’t let them take you for me.” 

Cole’s words sent a chill down Varric’s spine, but Maria didn’t flinch and she didn’t look back at Cole or him. Whatever decision she’d come to, she’d already made it. Varric knew the look of a woman intent on having her way, he saw it often enough.

“As you wish, then.” Cassandra spat out finally. “If this is the price of your cooperation, I will accept it. However, you are responsible for… this Cole and his actions.”    
“Deal.” Maria agreed immediately, offering her hand. “I’m yours, Seeker. Until that… thing is dealt with. Then Cole and I go back to Ostwick without anyone trying to stop us.” 

Cassandra tightened her jaw but nodded, just once before reaching out and gripping Maria’s hand, shaking it firmly. The two women continued to consider each other for a moment before Cassandra dropped Maria’s hand. “Your presence is required in the chantry. There are matters to discuss.” 

With that, Cassandra whirled away, stormed down the street past the gawking spectators. Maria raised one hand, ran it briskly through her hair before she too whirled back to face Cole. “A  _ spirit _ ?” She questioned. “That may have been helpful information to know, Cole.” 

“I thought you knew?” Cole responded with a question of his own, blinking rapidly as if confused. 

“Andraste’s ass.” Maria moaned. “So you  _ weren’t _ reading my text messages over my shoulder.” 

“I told you I wasn’t.” Cole replied like the answer couldn’t be more obvious. Maria went to bury her face in her hands with another muttered oath to the Maker, stopping as her fingertips brushed the lenses she still wore. She reached up to take them off…

“Wait!” Cole interjected. “He likes them on you.” 

Maria’s hand froze and she looked up to meet Cole’s eyes with a raised eyebrow before her bright eyes slid to Varric’s face, which seemed to be growing uncomfortably warmer. Especially when one corner of her lips turned up in a knowing, seductive grin and she raised one eyebrow. “Really, Tethras?” She purred, all wicked, teasing heat. “What do you like about them?” 

“They bring out your eyes.” It was true  _ and _ probably the only semi-appropriate thing he could think of to say. 

“He wants you to ask why his books are late.” Cole tipped his head to the side, confused. “But I don’t know which books…”

Varric wished, frantically, that the ground underneath him would crack open and he’d fall down to join his bleeding ancestors. Maria bit her lip to stop what he assumed was a very amused laugh from breaking out, but he’d have rather heard the laugh than see that plump pink lip caught by her teeth, especially with Cole picking out every perverted thought from his head. 

Maker, he thought the blighted demon cat Anders kept was bad, Cole was going to  _ actually _ be the death of him. 

Maria slowly pulled the glasses from her face, something that was  _ obviously _ contrived to be more alluring because she winked when she placed them in his outstretched hand. “Maybe if you ask nicely, Tethras, I’ll put them back on later for you.” 

It was contrived and he fell for it hook, line, and sinker because he was a weak, weak man. “I’m always nice.” He grinned and shrugged helplessly. 

“I would be more than happy to keep an eye on Cole and introduce him to Haven.” Solas interrupted, the tips of the elf’s ears turning quite red as well. Varric couldn’t tell if the man was as affected by the sinful dwarf in front of him or if Chuckles was just awkward about sex. Could be either, really. “It would be my pleasure.” 

“Thank you.” Maria shot a real, pleased smile up at Solas before turning her attention back to Cole. “And don’t think we’re done talking about this, Cole. I have some more questions I want answered.” 

“Yes.” Cole nodded. “I’ll be here. I won’t leave you.” 

The promise softened Maria’s face and she reached up, patting Cole’s cheek maternally. “I know, sweetheart.” She whispered. “Don’t get into any trouble, okay?” 

Cole nodded his assent and Maria stood on tiptoes to brush her lips against his cheek and squeezed his shoulder. Then, as quickly as she’d arrived, she was gone. The only hint of her a lingering trace of cinnamon. 

“She likes you.” Cole said simply into the air. “Both of you.” 

Solas’s voice was so dry, it could have given the Hissing Wastes a run for their money. “In different ways, it appears.” 

Varric couldn’t help but feel a  _ bit _ smug. “What can I say? The chest hair is potent, my friend.” 

Meanwhile, he made a note to himself to try and get the kid away from Solas as soon as he could. Varric’s vivid imagination was beginning to conjure up a dark picture of life in Ostwick for Maria Cadash, one he very much didn’t like at all. 

Maybe the spirit she’d accidentally taken in could shed some light on it. 

xx

Maria needed to stop asking when her life would stop getting weirder, because evidently continuing to ask only meant that strange shit continued to happen. That’s how she ended up surrounded by crazy chantry folk with a tear in the world, after all. 

The assembled humans at the table all looked at her with varying degrees of naked curiosity, but also something akin to respect. First, there was the Antivan, the one Bea had mentioned. Josephine Montiliyet listed off an impressive resume of foreign sounding, presumably prestigious, universities and multiple positions working in Orlais and Antiva as part of non-governmental organizations dedicated to eliminating poverty.

Funny, Maria thought, because the outfit she wore had to be worth at least three months rent. From the sensible black heels to the white blouse tucked into a perfectly pressed a-line skirt, the woman very nearly gave the impression of a lawyer. The only giveaway, perhaps the only nod to a life outside of those clothes, were beautiful golden drop earrings that seemed a bit whimsical. Romantic, even. Her curls, twisted up in a perfectly coifed bun, showed them off against her coffee colored skin. 

Still, Josephine smiled politely and kindly. It wasn’t a  _ bad _ thing to grow up rich, Maria reminded herself. And it seemed like this woman at least tried to do good. She was the only one to inquire, brightly, if she’d spoken to her sister yet and to offer her cell phone immediately in case she hadn’t. 

“You seem… familiar.” The former templar studied her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. “Pardon me for saying so. I believe I’ve heard your voice before.” 

She  _ nearly _ asked him if he’d ever bought lyrium illegally, but figured if he had, now was not the time to bring it up. She shrugged instead. “Sorry. I have one of those voices.” 

“I doubt that is true.” 

The last figure, beyond Seeker Pentaghast, was the one Maria felt most wary of. The woman had red hair as well, but certainly more ginger than hers was. It was probably shorter too, although that was hard to be sure of. The woman had a black hooded sweatshirt on and she slouched into it comfortably, the hood raised to cover her ears and hair. Her eyes were piercing, a blue so clear it was like staring into a pool of water. Maria knew enough to recognize a woman worth watching. Unfortunately, Leliana was watching her too, very carefully, as if she could take her measure by no more than observation. 

“You’re all… very impressive.” Maria didn’t know  _ who _ was actually in charge, but at least they all seemed to be working together to get everyone out of this mess. That was better than nothing.

“It is kind of you to agree to assist us.” Josephine glanced up from her tablet screen with a small smile. In the time she looked away, Maria heard the dim chime of three notifications. “I’ve reached out to all of my contacts. We will need support if we are to close the vortex.” 

And once they closed it, she could go home, take Cole and  _ run _ . “How long do you think it will take?” Maria risked asking.

It was Cullen, the broad ex-templar with the sad eyes, that answered. “The sooner the better, I wager. The longer that thing exists, the more at risk the world being torn asunder.” 

“I like your optimism.” Maria muttered under her breath. Cullen’s lips tipped up in small, amused smile.

“Keep that sense of humor. I suspect we’ll need it.” He advised. 

“Solas believes that if we were to surround you with enough arcane power, the Vortex will respond to your presence by closing.” Cassandra explained with grim determination. 

She was a battery that needed to be charged. Well, she guessed she could live with that. “The rebel witches are ensconced at Redcliffe. We could make them see it is in their best interest to assist.” Leliana said. 

“And the templars exist for this  _ sole _ reason.” Cullen pointed out. “The order has a duty…” 

“Initial outreach has already been made to… both parties.” Josephine began delicately. “They have ignored us. They  _ see _ that the vortex is a problem, but insist on blaming the opposing side. They each see us as a pawn for the other one and then there is the problem of…” 

Maria waited as the silence around them grew heavy. Finally, Cassandra cleared her throat and turned her burning gaze towards Maria. “There is the problem of you. You are not what anyone anticipated you would be. Your identity will leak, there is nothing to be done to prevent it. You will become a target for both the inspired and the angry.”

A victim for the mob. Maria tried not to let that thought frighten her. “Well, at least we stopped burning witches two-hundred years ago, right?” She asked. “I’d really  _ prefer  _ not to burn alive if it’s an option. Firing squad sounds better.” 

“They are frightened, you will make them see you are not to be feared.” Cassandra stated, as if it were both obvious and easy. “If we can sway the people to believe we are able to banish the vortex, then the templars and witches will have no choice but to work with us and stop this needless bloodshed.” 

“We must release your name.” Leliana said immediately. “If we do not do so, someone else will.” 

Her stomach sunk. If they released her name, it would only be a matter of time before they chased down what she did for a living in Ostwick. Her business, and by extension Dwyka’s, would be splashed all over every front page in Thedas. “Ostwick Carta Member Sole Survivor of Explosion, Joins Heretical Religious Movement” certainly had a dramatic ring to it. 

Bea would have to face it alone, both the press and Dwyka. 

Everyone else had continued talking, Maria lost track of the conversation. Something about a woman at a train station near Redcliffe. When she looked up from the table in front of her, she found out she wasn’t the only silent one. Leliana was staring at her. 

“Come.” Leliana pushed away from the table and gestured at Maria to follow her. “Let the others debate this, I have not told you why I am here. It is easier to show than tell.” 

Leliana led her to a room that buzzed with activity, a hive of people flowing in and out, all wearing tense expressions, all stopping to greet Leliana with one word: Nightingale. Every surface was covered in maps, photos, computer printouts, and empty energy drinks. Monitors hung on nearly every inch of the walls. Some displayed computer screens, others what she assumed was security footage from… everywhere. Not just Haven, although she saw that too, but a city that looked familiar (not Ostwick, but maybe Kirkwall?), a building crammed full of people, an empty room that  _ looked  _ impressive… 

Wait. That empty room  _ was _ familiar. She peered at it more closely before it vanished to the next video stream, but the extra second of scrutiny was all she needed. Holy hell, that was the chamber of the Orlesian parliament. She saw it on the news often. 

“Are you… are you hacking into every security system in Thedas?” Maria asked, voice suffused with awe.

“Nearly.” Leliana answered, pushing her hood back. There was bluetooth device in her ear that reminded her of Varric’s, although hers was black instead of flesh colored. “My position here involves a certain degree of discretion.” 

“You’re a spy.” Maria accused. “Like James Bond.” 

“Bond is an ameteur compared to me, I assure you.” Leliana moved to the monitors, hit a few keys on a keyboard. “I worked for several interested parties in Orlais when I was young, but left after an… unpleasant incident. I found solace in the Chantry in a small town in Ferelden, one of the first to be sacked during the Ferelden civil war, unfortunately. I was rescued by a… brilliant young woman who was helping a young man escape Loghain’s clutches. That young man was Alistair Theirin.” 

Leliana pulled up a  _ familiar _ street corner in her monitor. Maria’s heart thudded and her palms began to sweat. It was the corner near Dwyka’s building. She recognized the store fronts, the broken lamp, the graffiti and cracked, grimy windows. Either ignoring her reaction or not noticing it, Leliana continued. “I began work for his majesty during the civil war and assisted him with claiming the throne from that murderous bastard. After… I worked for him for a time. Then I returned to the chantry because the Divine required my talents.” 

Maria couldn’t tear her eyes away from the monitor above her even if someone offered her a million sovereigns. “You are not the only woman here with a shadowed past, Miss Cadash. I know about who you work for in Ostwick. I know about your grandmother. I know about Fynn Dunhark.” 

“Well, Cassandra has some questions then.” The words tasted bitter. There were two figures on the monitor now, both of them turning the corner. The timestamp on the corner read a date and time from days ago, near dawn. Maria recognized herself holding the cup of coffee Cole brought her. Recognized Cole leaning over her solicitously. 

“It is none of Cassandra’s business.” Leliana stated firmly. “She… she has not been where you have. Where I have. She does not know that sometimes you must make no apologies for what you did to survive. The only thing I don’t know is  _ what _ keeps you with him, although I assume it is grave.” 

Maria silently watched the shadows of her and Cole walk past the security camera and said nothing in the choking silence. Leliana filled it instead. “We cannot keep your name secret, Maria Cadash. He will have to find out what you’re doing, but we can take steps to mitigate the risk if you fear that he will be angry at… losing your presence.” 

Maria couldn’t say anything, the pressure inside her chest felt like drowning. Leliana didn’t look disappointed, she just nodded as if in silent understanding. “Perhaps you will learn to trust me. Until then, you were here to sell lyrium, yes? Will he be easier to deal with if he is paid for it?” 

Dwyka didn’t love anything as much as he loved money. If he thought there was potential profit in her staying with this Inquisition… She nodded and Leliana set her jaw into an expression of spirited determination. “Then he shall be paid for it. I will see it done myself and I will… assist you in managing him if he becomes difficult.” 

“Why?” Maria asked, the question strangled. Leliana did not look down at her, but merely scowled at the monitors.

“I know what it is like to have no control of your destiny because of another.” She said simply. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know in other stories I've made Leliana and Maria more antagonistic towards each other, focusing on Leliana being 'softened' by Maria. In this Universe, Leliana was never 'hardened' and thus is a more empathetic character from the beginning.


	8. The Fighter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric is followed around by a cursed Tarot card and is, weirdly, used to being robbed by spirits.  
Maria and Cassandra have some things in common, like a love of hitting things.

“You’re shitting me.” Varric narrowed his eyes at the elf. “What kind of pretentious asshole doesn’t have  _ any _ social media accounts?” 

“One who prefers to spend his time offline.” Solas didn’t look up from the book he was reading, but Varric thought he saw the elf’s ears twitch in suppressed irritation. 

“Hey, I spend plenty of time offline!” Varric protested. Solas lowered the book just enough to meet Varric’s eyes over the top of it. 

“Mister Tethras, you have a computer stuffed in your ear at all times. I suspect even when you are bathing.”

“How?” Cole asked from his position on the floor, tipping his head to the side introspectively as he examined Varric. “His ears aren’t  _ that _ big.” 

Varric didn’t need to see Solas’s entire face to know the arrogant elf was smirking. The eyes said it all. 

“Who has big ears?” 

Maria’s voice drifted from the steps and he looked up to see her descending from the room every agreed belonged to her now, deliciously sleep rumpled and...

Andraste have mercy, she was wearing a pair of his sweatpants. She’d pulled the laces on them as tight as she could, double knotted them so they sat low on her hips. The tank top she wore obviously belong to the Seeker, it was at once too large (she’d used a hair tie to catch the extra fall of fabric, rendering it shorter and more manageable for her torso) and yet, too small, the fabric straining across her chest. 

She needed her own clothing, stat, before she gave him a heart attack or set out seducing the faithful calling her their Herald. He coughed into his hand and swept his gaze back from the tantalizing peak of skin visible between where she tied the tank top and the waistband of his pants to her eyes. “Princess, if you’re going to insist on looking better in my clothing and accessories than I do, we’re going to have words.” 

“Well, you’re the one who left them on my bed.” She folded her arms under her chest, tone playfully scolding.

“I can’t argue with the end results, but I certainly didn’t.” He leaned back in his chair, confused and a bit alarmed suddenly. Who the hell was going through his suitcase? 

“They’re soft. Warm. Like the ones at home.” Cole interjected, worrying his knit cap between his fingers. “You like them. You didn’t bring any clothes for sleeping, you thought you wouldn’t.” 

He’d been robbed by a spirit. Well, it wasn’t like that hadn’t happened before. Once, Hawke pranked him by making her damn dog steal his boxers and spread them all over Hightown. It was all fun and games until a fan asked him to autograph a pair months later. 

“Shit.” Maria swore, brought the heel of her hand up to her forehead. “I’m sorry. I’ll give them back, give me a second to change.” 

“But why?” Cole insisted, brow furrowed. “He doesn’t mind.” 

He really didn’t. Hell, if this tempting sight was the reward he’d give her full access to his suitcase. But, a more distressing and problematic thought entered his head. “Kid, who’d you nick that top from?” 

“I didn’t!” Cole protested. “She left it with the shorts, but you get cold, so I put the shorts in the drawer and got pants.” 

Well, at least they wouldn’t have a half-naked Seeker tearing through looking for her clothing, although that would certainly be an amusing way to start their day. “Don’t rush to get dressed on my account.” Varric waved her down the steps impatiently. “We have a present for you.”

“I am uninvolved.” Solas sniffed behind his book disdainfully. Maria’s lips twitched, a surge of amusement she couldn’t hold back, but she remained stubbornly rooted to the steps as if too wary to descend. 

Varric lifted the box from the table into the air. “We got you a phone.” 

“ _ We _ did not.” Solas muttered, sinking further down into his chair pointedly. 

“Well, it was my idea.” Varric grinned, unabashedly pleased with himself. “Unlike the old man over here, I knew a civilized person can’t live without a cell phone in this day and age.” 

“You, Mister Tethras, were the one complaining about being too old to sleep on the couch.” Solas muttered. 

“You bought me a phone?” Maria stepped gracefully, quietly down the rest of the stairs. “Why?” 

“I didn’t buy it.” Varric confided conspiratorially. “I own part of the company, so I just… kinda request them. You just need to turn it on.” 

“He was going to install apps for you.” Cole looked up to meet Maria’s eyes from spot on the floor. “But I didn’t know the names of the ones you used, just the way they felt.” 

“It comes preloaded with some.” Varric admitted. “None of that… junk that clogs up the other brands though. The normal shit, Facebook. Twitter. Instagram.” 

“I don’t understand twitter.” Cole sighed. “People are too big for two hundred and forty characters.” 

“Nobody understands Twitter, kid.” Varric advised sagely, grinning down at the box in his hands. “This is one of the newest models, a marvel of modern technology. Beautiful six inch, high resolution display, five-hundred gigabytes of internal memory, twelve megapixel camera, water resistant, fast charging, longest lasting battery on the market, bionic sensors…” 

“Do you need some time alone with it?” Maria teased. Varric chuckled, looked up…

In the time he’d been examining the box proudly, she’d crossed the room as silently as a spirit herself and now stood close enough to touch. She leaned over him in the chair and examined the item in his hand shrewdly. If he was so inclined, he could easily reach up and tug her into his lap. 

_ If _ he was so inclined. He reminded himself that he definitely  _ shouldn’t _ be. The poor woman had enough problems without dealing with being an object of his lust, no matter how much she seemed to enjoy it. Besides, Varric wasn’t capable of giving much more than a stellar performance in the bedroom. His heart wasn’t his own. Hadn’t been for a long time. 

Varric was an author at heart, and he knew  _ this _ story should end with her riding off into the sunset with someone altogether more appealing. Curly, maybe. He had the golden boy good looks. 

“This is the model we send to our most exclusive customers, Princess.” Varric continued as nonchalantly as he could, placing the box in her hands. “Hawke added some… special surprises.” 

This caught Solas’s attention. He lowered the book from his face and stared at the box. “Such as?” 

Varric did love an audience. He pulled his own, nearly identical phone from his pocket and placed it on the table between Solas and himself. Maria leaned closer, her arm brushing his, a waft of cinnamon trailing lightly from her swinging hair. Varric ignored it valiantly. “Once you activate the phone, put in all you biometrics, it creates a map of your unique aura. Virtual magical fingerprint, which means that you  _ can’t _ lose this beauty. If I walked out of this room without it, I’d find it in my pocket ten minutes later.”

“Bullshit.” Maria accused. 

Varric shot her a wounded look. “Are you calling me a liar, Princess?” 

“Yes.” She smirked. “And a creative one.” 

He couldn’t really argue with that. He shrugged, semi-abashed. “True as that may be, I wouldn’t ever lie about our products. There’s a sigil in the back that can help charge the battery with expended magical energy, an app to identify runes, charts to track the best times to grow herbs…” 

“This is an abomination of technology and the arcane arts.” Solas glared at the box, personally offended.

“That’s hurtful, Chuckles.” Varric tossed the box into the air, wasn’t disappointed when Maria caught it and examined it critically, curiously. 

His phone was the gold version, but for her, he’d gotten the silver one. To match her eyes. “How much do these retail for?” She asked in a hushed whisper.

“Technically, the ones loaded like this don’t retail.” Varric  _ hated _ dealing with the chantry, the templars, the testing by all the witches at every damn circle in Thedas. “If it retailed, we’d have to do a shit ton of paperwork. Those are… personal favors. For friends and employees. The base model… shit, I think it’s going for just shy of a thousand sovereigns.” 

Maria’s laugh sounded a bit strangled. “I’ve  _ never _ held anything this expensive before. I can’t accept it.” She admitted. 

“Well, at least there are some perks to falling out of the sky, Princess.” Varric watched as her desire overshadowed her pride and she opened the box, withdrew the styrofoam protecting the delicate, yet sturdy, creation. Her deft fingers made short work of the packaging. The only thing her model  _ didn’t  _ have on it that his did was Bianca. Everything else… well, if she was going to be enmeshed in this weird shit, she needed the best available. 

“I got you an Ostwick number, sorry, but it’s not the same as your old one.” He apologized, but Maria was shaking her head.

“No, that’s… that’s fine.” She smiled, traced her finger down the slim metal case. “Good, even.” 

“Yes.” Cole agreed. “The number is yours. No more hiding.”

“Thank you.” Maria interjected quickly before Cole could continue. “Thanks for the phone and… I guess letting me into your pants.” 

Her eyes danced with wicked, sinful amusement. Varric shrugged, ignored the answering thrum of his pulse. “Any time, Princess. Consider them both yours.” He’d never be able to wear them again without imagining her warm body poured into them anyway. 

“I’ll try and pay you back.” She swore. “Promise.” 

“Close that hole in the sky and I’ll consider the debt repaid with interest.” Varric offered gamely.

Maria sighed. “No pressure.” 

Wasn’t that the truth. Before he could say anything else, she seemed to remember something, her hand flying to the pocket of the pants she wore and withdrawing a playing card, bent in half. 

Except, on further examination, it wasn’t a playing card. 

Varric bit back an aggravated groan as she unfolded it and handed it to him. “Sorry, this was in the pocket last night. Is it yours or did Cole steal it?” 

Pinched between her fingers, The Lovers stared up at him. Varric glared at it. “Sorry, that’s just cursed. Maybe it’ll start following you around now.” 

“It’s not.” Cole muttered, pale eyes flicking up. “Not cursed. Just a promise not made yet.” 

“I don’t want your cursed cards, Tethras.” Maria thrust out the card with playful irritation. “Take it back.” 

“Fine.” Varric sighed, reaching out to take the card. “If you insist.” 

For a brief moment, they were both touching Hawke’s tarot card, the thing a bridge between them. And in that second, Varric felt a surge of something like electricity crackle up his arm, something that made his hair stand on end. 

Then she let go and stepped back, and it was over, but when his eyes careened from the card up to meet hers, he saw the same flicker of panic he’d felt dancing across her features. “What was that?” She asked, rubbing her right arm. 

“I told you.” Varric mumbled, stuffing the card into his journal as quickly as he could. “Cursed.” 

Maker, he was going to  _ murder _ Hawke. 

xx

“You know how to shoot.” 

Sometimes, when the Seeker said something, Maria really couldn’t tell if she was asking a question or stating the obvious. She waited a beat, then a second one, before she risked answering. “Yes. I can also fold a fitted sheet and make a mean cocktail if you need to know my other talents.”

She could probably add ‘irritating Cassandra Pentaghast’ to the list of things she was  _ exceptionally  _ good at, but she really didn’t need to tell the Seeker what she already knew. Cassandra blew out an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes heavenward as if seeking patience. 

“Where did you learn to shoot?” 

“Why do you need to know?” Maria asked suspiciously, reclining backwards against the bleachers behind her. They were in the basement of what used to be a high school, in what once served as the gymnasium. The scent of teenage sweat and hormones lingered, made her a bit nauseous. Instead of cheap plastic nets and basketballs, now the gym was full of weight lifting equipment, free standing punching bags, and blue foam mats. 

Maria wondered what happened to all the kids, when they’d be going back to school. If they’d ever go back to school. 

“I am taking you, a civilian, into an active war zone in three days.” Cassandra explained through gritted teeth. “You appear to be adequately trained, but I need to know if it is luck or skill.” 

She bristled, irritated. “Luck? You don’t make shots like I make and call it  _ luck _ .” Maria could shoot a copper thrown into the air at 90 feet. She wasn’t just skilled, she  _ excelled _ . “My father taught me.” 

“Was he a skilled marksman?” Cassandra interrogated. Maker, the woman could use some training on  _ talking _ to people. 

“Top of the Ostwick Police Officer’s Academy.” She shot back. “He taught  _ all  _ their recruits for ten years. You can fact check that if you want, Seeker.” 

Cassandra looked… stunned. “I… I did not realize your father was an officer and you a…” 

She tipped her chin up defiantly. “A criminal?”

“Yes.” Cassandra at least had the grace to admit it. Maria clenched her hands into fists, took a deep, calming breath. 

“He died.” She opened her eyes, was able to look at the Seeker with the same level of cool disdain she needed to maintain. “Years before I joined the Carta.” 

“In the line of duty?” 

“No. And we’re not talking about it.”

Cassandra nodded as if she understood and Maria felt a bit of the tension bleed out of her body. “You are comfortable with which types of guns?” Cassandra asked. 

All types, really. “I have an unregistered Glock nine milimeter in my bag at the house. Pistols are what I’m best with, but I can also handle most rifles as long as they’re not too long. Shotguns are a bit harder for me, but manageable.” 

“We will register your gun.” Cassandra muttered darkly. “To you.” 

“Good luck.” Maria grinned. “Criminal, remember?” 

“I am a Seeker.” Cassandra declared imperiously. “I can override local law in order to combat dangerous magic.” 

Because that wasn’t a slippery slope at all. What was it they said about absolute power? Still, she couldn’t help but asking one question. “Why’d you become a Seeker?” 

For a moment, Maria thought Cassandra would scoff and ignore her. Instead, the woman looked at her as if weighing the words she spoke very carefully. “I did not wish to. I wanted to become a templar. I witnessed blood witches murder my brother, I thought to get vengeance. I was sent to the Seekers instead.”

Well. Shit. Maria scrambled for words to say to that, but the Seeker kept talking. “I trained for many years until I let go of my anger. The Seekers are… were an honorable organization.” 

The Chantry’s secret police given authority to do  _ anything _ regardless of laws in any given country, as long as it served their mission to hunt dangerous magic and bring corrupt templars to justice. Maria never heard them whispered about with anything but fear. She never heard anyone call them honorable. 

While Maria thought over Cassandra’s answer, Cassandra was not idle. She dumped a bin full of protective gear on the ground before looking back towards Maria. “Why did you join the Carta?” 

Cassandra, Maria realized, only answered  _ her _ question to get one of her own. Still, she supposed fair was fair. “I didn’t want to.” She admitted. “I needed a lot of money and I needed it fast. I was young and stupid enough to think I’d get out when I got what I needed.” 

But she’d examined that decision for  _ years _ , mulled over all her other options at the time until her head hurt, and she still couldn’t see any other alternative she could have lived with. Even if the price had been blood, at least it was hers. 

“And will you return to that life? Truly?” 

She looked away from Cassandra, focused on the limp blue mats lining the hard, painted floor, obscuring the lines marking a basketball court. Maria wasn’t free, she was never going to be free. It didn’t matter that she had an expensive cell phone in her pocket, one that only Bea had the number for, one whose messages and calls were blissfully, completely private. 

The fact that the people smiled at her, both shy and eager in turns, meant nothing. 

Solas calling her Miss Cadash like it never occurred to him to call her a rat or a whore. Varric’s laughing, eyes alight with heat and something surprisingly gentle under it. None of it mattered, none of it was  _ real  _ or permanent. 

If she lived after all this, she’d have to go back. She had no choice and she couldn’t fool herself thinking otherwise. If she didn’t live… 

She had to. For Bea and Cole. Dying wasn’t an option. 

She shrugged as apathetically as possible. “Don’t see many other career opportunities.” 

Cassandra threw the boxing gloves at her. Maria caught them before they slammed into her face, which was probably what Cassandra intended. Maria felt oddly almost glad for the distraction, it tore her away from the memory of beer soaked breath on the back of her neck. “You can shoot. Can you fight if need be? A witch sapped of its magic will use any other defense available.” 

“Their magic.” Maria corrected harshly. “Unless, suddenly, these aren’t people anymore.” 

“You support them?” Cassandra asked incredulously. 

Maria saw the news footage of the Gallows and it made her skin crawl. Tiny, dark, dank cells with bars on the windows. The prisoners there barely had enough room to pace in the cages they were stuffed into. Sure, after that program aired  _ lots _ of circles went live to show that wasn’t how  _ they _ did things.

It didn’t matter. If one place could get away with it, they all could. 

“I saw what they did in Kirkwall.” Maria slipped the gloves on, tightened them around her wrists with her teeth before she continued. “I’ve been in more comfortable accommodations for criminal activities and I  _ chose _ to do those things. The poor kids in those cells didn’t  _ choose  _ to be what they are.” 

“They are dangerous.” Cassandra scowled. “Kirkwall was a problem, but the solution is not to…” 

“What is the solution then?” Maria asked. 

Cassandra didn’t have an answer. Nobody did, really. Cassandra sighed, shook her head. “I do not wish to fight with you.” 

Maria held up her fists. “Then why did you give me gloves?” 

Almost against her will, Cassandra’s lips twitched. She shook her head to clear it and turned to Maria, her own gloves on. “Do you know how to fight?” 

“I trained with a famous boxer.” She smirked. 

“You are as bad as Varric with your stories.” Cassandra shifted into a stance and inclined her head. “Try to hit me.” 

Oh, it felt like Maria had been  _ waiting _ for Cassandra to say that. She looked down at the gloves and grinned, her heart brightening just a bit. She didn’t know fuck all about the hole in the sky, about holy wars, magic, templars, witches. She barely understood  _ how _ she’d gotten dragged into the middle of it.

But she  _ did  _ know how to hit things. 

Cassandra’s defensive stance favored the idea that Maria would come on straight ahead, exactly what a rookie would do. But Maria knew better. She feinted just like she was going dead center, then slipped left and jabbed her fist into the space below Cassandra’s ribs. The woman grunted above her. 

“I wasn’t lying.” Maria jumped back lightly. “About the famous boxer, anyway.” 

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed and she moved forward, quick as lightning. Maria got her own fists up in time to barely deflect another blow. Something in her remembered this dance like it had been yesterday. Dodge, deflect, jab, thrust. She almost believed she was eighteen again, carefree, reckless,  _ sure _ of herself. 

Slowly she realized that Cassandra wasn’t taking it easy on her any longer. The blows from the Seeker were coming at full force, quick and thunderous. Maria took a jab to the kidney that very nearly caused her to double over. 

She wouldn’t win in a fair fight against the Seeker, she couldn’t match the human’s strength or reach. 

She remembered a booming voice shouting across a ring, instructing her not to fight harder, but to fight smarter. She let the next hit land on her shoulder, let the force turn her, watched as Cassandra’s momentum carried her forward before the woman could quite catch herself. She landed an elbow in Cassandra’s unguarded abdomen, weaving around the freestanding punching bag standing beside them and shoved it from behind with all her weight. 

The bag toppled and Cassandra rolled out of the way, right where Maria wanted her. A solid right hook to Cassandra’s kidney had the woman doubled over, although she still managed to raise up her left arm to block the second punch. Cassandra’s eyes glared at her through smudged eyeliner.

“You cheat.” She accused breathlessly. Maria shrugged. 

“Yeah, when you’re involved in an  _ actual  _ fight, people usually do.” 

She saw the gleam in Cassandra’s eyes, but didn’t translate it quickly enough. The woman’s long human leg swept out from under her, catching Maria off guard and sending her sprawling onto her ass, head landing with a dull thud on the blue mat beneath her. 

She should have been pissed, but instead all she could do was let out a startled laugh and cover her eyes with her arm, unwilling to stare into the bright glare of the fluorescent lights above them. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Seeker.”

“I have been involved in my share of actual fights.” Cassandra almost sounded pleased. Maria lifted her arm from her eyes just enough to stare at the woman’s thoughtful face before Cassandra thrust her arm out. Maria hesitated before she reached out and took it, leveraging herself off the ground with Cassandra’s assistance. 

“Templars without lyrium will also fight with whatever they have.” Cassandra admitted. “Both sides care little for civilian casualties. You must be on your guard, but I will protect you to the best of my abilities.” 

“Nobody can protect anyone else, Seeker.” Maria was too old to believe otherwise.

“Perhaps.” Cassandra agreed. “But you can die trying.” 

Maria couldn’t stop herself from gaping at the serious expression on Cassandra’s face. She swallowed her shock and shook her head. “Let’s try not to do that.” 

Cassandra allowed herself a small smile. “I will make every effort.” 

On the bleachers, Maria’s new phone buzzed. A distance away, Cassandra’s did as well. Cassandra strode over to it gracefully, threw a towel back at Maria to mop her face off with before she picked up the sleek dark device she carried. 

Maria wiped her face briskly. When she lowered the towel she found Cassandra scowling down at her phone. “What’s wrong?” 

“Josephine sent our press release revealing your identity.” 

Cassandra said it in the same exact tone Maria thought she’d use if she said something like ‘we are about to be attacked by bloodsucking vampires.’ She sounded both grim and determined. Maria swallowed her own anxiety and schooled her features. “Great, which mugshot did they use?” 

She  _ really _ hoped it wasn’t the one from the bar fight. Or the one they’d taken after she’d been arrested in Hercinia. Cassandra looked up from her phone, perplexed.

“We did not use a mugshot.” She said, pushing her phone towards Maria. “Your sister sent photos at Josephine’s request.”

Hell, it would have been easier to use a damn mugshot. Maria couldn’t think of the last time she’d posed for a photo with anyone, even Bea who took damn pictures of everything. Which meant they’d used one of the ones she didn’t  _ realize _ Bea was taking. She kinda would have preferred the mug shot from the bar fight in that case. She took Cassandra’s phone with no small degree of trepidation, looked down into the screen. 

She recognized the photo immediately. In it, Maria wasn’t looking at the camera, she was staring at something off to the side. Her form sprawled on a park bench, the leaves around her nearly the same shade as her hair, a book open on her lap. Bea dragged her to that damn city park last fall, tried to convince her to do yoga with her, but Maria sat it out and read instead. 

It had been a pretty day, and Maria had to admit she looked nice in the picture, but there was a layer of something pensive over her expression. Maria knew what she’d seen the moment this picture had been taken, her attention drawn away from Bea by a figure entering the park. Bea hadn’t realized it until she too had turned around after snapping the photo. 

Maria wondered if someone zoomed in on her pale eyes they could see Dwyka reflected there like her own personal demon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cole ships it.


	9. The Crossing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a cost to war, Varric knows it well. He just wishes that innocent people didn't have to pay it.  
Maria might be the Herald of Andraste, but she isn't above hotwiring a car or fighting with an AI.

_ H: Fen said he was talking to bianca… _  
_ V: I was wondering why there were so many searches for ‘how to get a witch to stop talking’ in the AI history _  
_ H: she told him you’re spending a lot of time with a certain redheaded dwarf _  
H: should I be jealous, Varric? have I been replaced as your muse?  
V: Ah, forgot some of those searches were mine  
_ H: saw a picture of her. she’s just your type _  
_ V: Horrifically unlucky? Doomed and tragic? Surrounded by weird shit? _ _  
H: curves for days and come hither eyes _

The last text was followed, succinctly, by a string of emojis consisting of eggplants and winking faces. Varric didn’t know whether to laugh or let out an exasperated sigh. He was going to have to communicate to a certain AI that Hawke didn’t need to be privy to all the details of his life no matter how much she pried. He closed the secure chat out on his phone and eyed the other occupants of the SUV. 

Cassandra drove and Solas rode shotgun beside her, staring at a _ paper _ map of all things. Maria offered, originally, to sit shotgun but Cullen turned it down immediately. Apparently, the bulletproof glass was stronger in the back seat due to a reduced need for visibility. Things Varric didn’t know prior to this whole business, but were helpful regardless. At the very least, if he ever wrote a novel about an assassin it’d be an interesting tidbit to throw in. 

As long as he didn’t actually get thrown into a real-life assasination plot, that was. He had to admit to being nearly as nervous taking Maria Cadash out of Haven as Cullen had been about it. At least in Haven, the people _ believed _ in her fervently. They’d been there when she stopped the vortex, whispered about how she survived. There, she was safe enough surrounded by Cullen’s soldiers and Haven’s crumbling medieval walls. But, of course, the last reasonable person in the Chantry insisted on meeting her in person, so off they dragged her. 

Now, all she had was one cranky old witch, a Seeker, a renegade familiar, and a fucking bestselling author to protect her. It would have been more reassuring if Maria appeared the least bit bothered herself. Instead, she focused her anxiety less on the ‘potentially being murdered’ and more on ‘meeting people.’ He couldn’t decide if her priorities skewed dangerously out of whack or if she just acclimated quickly to danger. 

“But why eggplants?” 

Andraste take him now. Cole was sandwiched between him and Maria in the backseat and Varric thought the kid engrossed in examining his own fingernails, but apparently that was a tragic mistake.

“Sorry?” Cassandra asked tersely. 

“I said why…” 

“Good source of fiber.” Maria jumped in, interrupting Cole even though the laughter in her voice was barely contained. “And you’ve got to get those antioxidants in somewhere.” 

“That doesn’t make sense.” Cole muttered. 

Cassandra muttered something under her breath that sounded like an accusation that nothing in her life made sense either. Maria’s grin was unbearably smug as she dropped her eyes back to the phone in her hand, her thumbs tapping away. Varric didn’t even bother to hide his surprise when his phone buzzed. 

_ M: Sexting, Tethras? What would the Seeker say? _ _  
_ _ V: If you’re offering, I’ll risk it. _

He knew he shouldn’t send it, but he couldn’t help himself. He monitored her face from the corner of his eye, watched as she looked at the notification, watched the slow curl of her lips upward as she read his message. She shook her head in amused exasperation before her eyes glimmered mischievously and she tapped furiously. 

_ M: I’ve read Swords and Shields, I’ll pass. _

He laughed out loud, immediately leaning forward to pierce her with a disbelieving gaze over Cole’s lanky form. “You actually _ read _ that shit, Princess?” 

“I’m as shocked as you are, honestly.” Maria responded, settling back into the seat cushions with a wry smirk. “Her breasts strained against her leather jerkin like wild stallions? It was _ awful _.” 

The wheel to the SUV jerked and Varric looked ahead to see the back of Cassandra’s neck coloring. “What are you two discussing?” She demanded. 

Maria opened her mouth to answer and, he assumed, further disparage his worst selling series. She was stopped short by Cole wrenching to face her, his palm heavy on her shoulder as he tried to push her down further into her seat. Maria made a noise of protest but Cole simply shoved her down harder. “No. They want to hurt. Hurt like they were hurt, harm the helpers, burn the world.” 

“What…?” Maria began, bewildered, but Solas straightened and wrapped his hand around the jawbone he wore. 

“Seeker, I would heed Cole.” Solas advised. 

“We are nearly at the camp.” Cassandra gripped the wheel even more firmly. “It is only…” 

The screams pierced the air and Maria pushed Cole’s hand off her immediately, flying to her window to peer out into the desolate neighborhood they were driving through. All he could see outside her tinted window was the burnt out shell of some building or another. Outside his, the only thing that emerged were dozens of abandoned little houses set neatly on scorched lawns. 

There was a street sign, hanging lopsided, pointing to the Redcliffe Crossing station indicating they were only a quarter mile away. With icy certainty similar to how he felt Hawke must anticipate disaster, Varric _ knew _ the screams were coming from the Crossing, the place where this Mother Giselle gathered all the refugees and homeless war victims. 

Cassandra came to the same conclusion, slamming the SUV into park and throwing her door open, pausing only to bark at Maria. “Stay in the car!” 

The Seeker ignored Maria’s sputtered protests when she slammed the door shut. Solas rolled out immediately as well, stalking after the Seeker as she drew her gun. Varric withdrew his own from under the seat and opened his door.

“I’m coming too!” Maria exclaimed. 

“Bianca, lock the doors.” Varric ordered tersely before Maria could even reach for her own gun. He slammed the car door shut behind him and the doors all latched immediately with a definitive click.

“Sorry Princess.” He called back with a cheerful grin. “You heard the Seeker.” 

She thudded her fist against the bulletproof glass and Varric strolled away, humming under his breath, ignoring the irate shouts of his name. 

“I anticipate Maria Cadash will not be happy, Varric.” Bianca chirped in his ear. 

“Bianca, baby, better unhappy and alive than the alternative.” Varric sighed grimly. The dwarf they called the Herald had too big of a target on her back, stood out too easily with that bright red hair and stunning eyes. 

Her photo had been splashed on every publication in Thedas - first the ones the Inquisition’s lovely ambassador provided. Then, of course, a series of mugshots as the press began to pick apart her past, began to list crimes she’d been convicted of, the murder charge that didn’t stick. 

As far as he could tell, Maria didn’t look at any of them. If the news was on TV when she entered the room, she either exited said room or turned it off. 

He wasn’t dumb enough to believe she didn’t know what the world was doing and he didn’t blame her for ignoring it. Hawke hadn’t been able to do it, she’d obsessed over every news report with growing distress and horror. Varric, used to seeing his name in the press, had it a bit easier. 

Varric obsessed over Maria’s news coverage for her, though, and he suspected Ruffles did too. The latest story, emerging just as they left Haven, was topped by a photo of a stunning, smiling young woman wrapped in the arms of young man with an impressive hipster beard, the sun setting behind them in a city Varric wasn’t familiar with. Her silver eyes had been on the camera, her hands holding it outstretched as she took the selfie, but the man in the photo only had eyes for her, his expression amused and indulgent. 

The headline underneath it read MURDER OF WEAPONS HEIR STILL UNSOLVED EIGHT YEARS AFTER CADASH’S AQUITAL. FRIENDS, FAMILY STILL MOURN FYNN DUNHARK. 

Vultures. Fucking vultures. 

Well, they couldn't keep Maria Cadash out of the press, but they could try to keep her out of danger anyway.

xx

Maria slammed an open palm against the glass one more time while she watched Varric stroll merrily away. She didn't expect it to do anything (_ fucking _bullet proof glass) but it felt good to hit something regardless. 

Cassandra allowed Varric to hook his phone up to the car via bluetooth. Apparently, that was enough to allow Varric to hijack the whole _ fucking _car. She wondered if the Seeker knew, then immediately decided there was no way she did. "Bianca!" She yelled, diving up the center console and swinging into the driver’s seat, pushing the button to unlock the door. Nothing happened. "BIANCA!" 

"But… Bianca is a name. Computers don't have names?" Cole questioned. Maria shushed him.

"Yes, Maria Cadash?"

She didn't know if a computer could sound amused, but the voice drifting from the SUVs speakers definitely sounded like she was enjoying the spectacle. "Open this _ fucking _ door!" She demanded.

"You do not have appropriate user permissions to issue commands." Bianca stated. Maria swore the AI sounded smug. 

"Let me out or I swear I'll…" Maria paused, momentarily stunned by the absurdity. What did one _ threaten _ an AI with? "I will spam Varric with the _ weirdest _pornography I can find." She decided. 

"There is a filter in place for that. We call it the Rivaini Contingency Plan." Bianca answered quickly. Maria hit the volume dial and turned it the whole way down. She did not need to…

The volume turned _ itself _back up, a song playing loudly instead of Bianca's voice. 

"Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down…"

She was being Rickrolled in the middle of a war zone, surrounded by gunfire, locked in a bulletproof SUV with a _ sadistic _AI. She stared at the console and tried, vainly, to figure out how she'd gotten there. 

"It is much more exciting than Ostwick." Cole agreed, poking his head in between the front seats. Maria held out her hand, palm up. 

"I need to borrow your knife." 

Cole placed the blade flat side on her palm and Maria pushed the seat back as far as it would go. “What are you doing?” Cole asked. 

Maria didn’t answer for several reasons, the most annoying one being that she wasn’t sure if Bianca was still listening. She’d show the snarky AI who was in charge. And if her erstwhile companions thought their Herald of Andraste was _ above _ hotwiring a car, they were seriously mistaken. 

xx

The doors to the train station hosting the refugees were shut and, hopefully, barricaded. It wouldn’t do much to keep the people inside safe if the assembled idiots skirmishing in front of the building, but it was a start. As long as the witches and templars didn’t turn their attention to the innocent people caught in the middle, they’d be golden. 

Unfortunately, nobody seemed to care if Cullen’s troops caught in the middle did perish protecting the refugees. He saw many of them hiding behind cover, one with a bullet hole in her throat staring up unseeing into the sky, another with blistering burns covering his one arm. He even saw the flash of a camera from, what he assumed, was a damn reporter too reckless to hide somewhere safe. “STOP!” The Seeker yelled, barging ahead. “Put your weapons down, this is neutral…” 

Before she could finish, one witch launched a barrage of lighting in her direction. The Seeker rolled out of the way in the nick of time. 

Somehow, he didn’t think these bastards cared one way or another who they killed anymore. The kid was right, these people just wanted to burn the world. Varric didn’t find that thought appealing at all.

“Varric?” Bianca questioned in his ear. “Did you wish to keep updated about the status of Maria Cadash?’ 

Varric’s shotgun blast leveled a witch advancing on Cassandra. He tried not to listen to her scream of agony as she fell. The poor girl looked as young as Bethany. “Sure, why not?” He muttered to the AI. 

“That will be problematic.” 

Varric cursed under his breath, hiding behind cover himself as assault rifle rounds pierced the ground around him. “Why is that problematic?” Varric asked through gritted teeth.

“I’ve lost connection with the vehicle.” Bianca admitted. “I suspect Maria Cadash has sabotaged the electrical system.” 

Oh Bianca sounded _ irritated _. His poor baby hadn’t sounded so put out since that incident with Merrill forcing her to watch something like three hundred hours of cooking shows in her quest to find the perfect flatbread recipe. 

Before he could even decide what he wanted the AI to do next, a Templar’s smite set his ears ringing, the blast knocking Cassandra clear off her feet. He could see the shadow looming over the Seeker as she shoved herself up as quickly as possible. 

Then a single shot rang out, piercing in its clarity and the shadow above Cassandra staggered before collapsing, a perfect bullet hole in the center of his forehead. Immediately, Maria Cadash was above the Seeker, reaching down to help pull her up off the muddy ground. “I said to stay in the car!” Cassandra growled, grabbing her own gun and kicking the assault rifle away from the fallen templar. 

“My bad. Thought I heard ‘hotwire the car.’ Understandable mistake.” Maria called as both women ducked behind an overturned car. Varric could hear Cassandra’s sputtering protestations that those two sentences sounded _ nothing _alike and fought the urge to laugh. He reached up to tap his earbud. 

“You’re off the hook Bianca, I got eyes on her.” He didn’t wait to hear the AI’s response, turning to his right and searching for Solas. He finally spotted the shine of the elf’s head and whistled, drawing his attention. 

Solas took one look at Varric before being drawn by the shock of red hair over his shoulder, visible like a flag on the battlefield. He saw the witch smile ruefully, shake his head in resigned acceptance. 

“If there were another age, Mister Tethras, she’d be a hero!” Solas called, summoning a blast of energy that knocked the nearest templars off their feet. 

Varric heard that about Hawke once too. He knew what _ this _ age did to its heroes. 

  
When all the templars and witches beyond their own soldiers were dead, Varric finally felt like he could breathe easily. That lasted for all of thirty seconds before he was staring into a pair of furious stormy eyes. If looks could kill, Varric thought darkly, he’d certainly be dead. He tipped his lips into his most winning, rakish smile, prepared to charm the very ire out of her gaze. 

Before he could even say a word, Maria Cadash reached up and ripped the ear piece out of his ear, nearly taking his earring with it. 

“If you _ ever _ try to lock me up somewhere again, I’m going to take this and shove it so far up your ass you’ll be shitting microchips for _ weeks _.” She threatened. 

“Just wanted to see how long it’d take you to break out, Princess.” He declared smoothly. 

“_ Don’t _ call me that.” She hissed, her face flushed with her temper, nearly as red as the hair on her head. 

How could he stop when it suited so well, particularly when she was both irate and commanding? She was fierce and fiery, a beacon among the battlefield. 

Cole’s fingers reached out and very lightly touched Maria’s elbow. “The hawk flew away, but not before they tried to cage her, break her. He tried to protect her too. Like you try to protect Bea.” 

Maria clenched her jaw shut tightly and shoved the earbud into his chest, her fingers brushing bare skin where he’d unbuttoned his shirt to flaunt the fine physique he worked so hard for and the chest hair he’d been genetically blessed with. If she was just using her irritation as an excuse to touch, he couldn’t tell. 

“Don’t do it again.” She ordered, spinning on her heel proudly and stalking back to the Seeker, stepping over fallen bodies as medics began to pour onto the field.

“It’s you!” Maria staggered to a stop immediately, glaring at the interruption. This time, it took the form of a dwarven woman nearly exactly her height, dressed in rugged jeans with a mound of equipment slung over her back. Camera equipment. Varric could smell a reporter from a mile away. 

His _ immediate _, visceral response was to jump in, loop his arm through Maria’s, and drag her away. It was exactly what Hawke would want if she ended up in a similar situation, but Cole shook his head as if the spirit read his thoughts. The small dwarf was beaming as if they weren’t surrounded by dead bodies, as if she hadn’t just been stuck on a battlefield, and Maker, she was younger than he thought she’d be. Were they picking reporters out of local high schools now? 

“I mean, it’s you. _ Her _ .” The woman continued, holding out her hand. “The one they’re talking about. The one _ everyone _is talking about. I’m Harding. Investigative Reporter Harding.” 

Varric’s mouth was open before he could help himself. “No shit. You ever think about getting a program in Kirkwall? You could call it ‘Harding in Hightown’, and you…” 

He trailed off as Maria’s eyes bore into him, shrugged helplessly. “Eh, it’s an idea.” He finished lamely. 

“Right.” Harding blinked in his direction twice before giving her head a solid shake to clear it. “Right, I’m here for _ you _though, the woman they call the Herald. I wanted to talk to you.” 

“Nope.” Maria crossed her arms over her chest instead of taking Harding’s hand. “There’s a person for talking to reporters. I’m not it.” 

Cassandra nodded firmly, emerging to tower over Maria’s shoulder with an intimidating glare of her own. Harding wilted and dropped her extended arm. “Ah, no… no, I wasn’t… I’m not looking for an interview. Although! If you want to, I'd be more than glad to…” 

“No.” Cassandra repeated in a voice that brooked no argument. 

“Right! Of course. You’re busy with the whole ‘saving the world’ from rogue magic thing!” Harding continued brightly. “So, I want to help. I want to come with you, record what you’re doing, show people why they should care, why they should help with the vortex, help end the war.” 

Holy hell, this girl _ was _ young to be so idealistic about her reporting goals. The rest of the business was all about selling advertisements. “I don’t have a big following, but I’ve won awards for some of my stuff. It’s just… nobody wants to hire me?” Harding squeaked out. 

“Why?” Solas asked curiously. Harding shifted her weight from foot to foot, blew out her breath in a gust.

“I busted a ring of editors taking money from political candidates in Orlais.” Harding admitted. “I kinda got myself blacklisted and had to come back home and live with my parents.”  
Maria’s lips twitched before she could school them back into neutrality. Harding soldiered on with her pitch. “I sent your PR person my portfolio and she said it was your call. I just want to follow you around and write about what you do. That’s all.” 

“That’s all?” Maria repeated. 

Harding bit her lip and met Maria’s steel gaze levely. “Listen, I can understand that you don’t want to trust me. Hell, if I were you I’d… probably punch the first reporter you met, honestly.” 

Harding laughed nervously. “I don’t care about your past and I think everyone should stop digging it up when we’ve got bigger problems.” 

An honest reporter. Who knew? 

“I do not think…” Cassandra started.

“Do your parents live around here?” Maria asked instead, her gaze steady and inquisitive. Harding frowned and nodded.

“Closer to Redcliffe. On a farm. I grew up milking cows and shearing sheep, but… well, they’re still on the farm. They said they won’t be going anywhere.” Harding held her jaw tight so that the trembling emotion on the tip of her tongue didn’t overwhelm her. “This is their home. My home. I want people to know what this war did. What it cost.” 

Maria flicked her eyes from Harding to Cole, waited until the kid nodded almost imperceptibly. Varric saw their Herald’s shoulders relax and Maria nodded, shoved her hands in the pockets of her coat. “Alright then. But I meant it, I’m not talking to you on camera.” 

“Thank you!” Harding exhaled. “That’s… this is great. Thank you.”

“We are late for our meeting, Cadash.” The Seeker still glared suspiciously down at Harding, but seemed to have relented as Maria did. “Come.” 

Varric smirked and shook his head, popping the earpiece back into his ear. 

xx 

Maria whipped her phone out of her pocket almost as soon as they entered the impressive old train station building. Cassandra was speaking to a soldier on guard, which gave her just enough time to read the notifications she had. 

_ B: plz tell me ur not reading the news. it’s all shit. _ _  
_ _ B: ignore it. i dont want to see you like you were last time _

Of course she wasn’t reading the fucking news. She wasn’t an idiot, she didn’t need to keep staring at her photo on every article or displayed prominently on the corner of every TV. She ignored her sister to read the next flurry of messages. 

_ Cullen R: We completed the installation of security cameras around the perimeter of your dwelling. Testing shows they’re working properly. _  
_ Cullen R: We also threw out several reporters who were attempting to sneak into Haven. _  
_ Cullen R: I do hope you heed my advice while you are gone and stay in the backseat of the vehicle. _ _  
Cullen R: Or wear a hat at least. _

She fought the urge to roll her eyes, flipped to the next conversation instead of indulging Cullen’s mothering. 

_ Nightingale: We were correct. There is a contingent of clerics pushing the Lord Seeker to arrest you. Do not be alarmed. Watch for this man. _

Underneath the message from Leliana was a screenshot of security footage showing a man in Haven on the phone. He wore the tell-tell collar of a priest. The next message was simply a name, Roderick Asignon. Great, Maria thought, scrolling to the next chat. The one that was _ definitely _ the most time consuming.

_Josie: I guessed your measurements, Miss Cadash. Does 38-27-36 sound correct? And you are 4’5”? _  
_ Josie: I know you said you did not need anything, but I cannot imagine you are warm in that jacket. I’ll purchase some for you to try on, as well as some more shirts and pants. I know you were not prepared for a long stay in Ferelden and when I called Beatrix she did not seem to feel you had anything appropriate for formal events to send. _  
_ Josie: I also ordered some skirts and a dress. Just for you to try on. _  
_ Josie: And I obtained that book on Orlesian etiquette for you. I know it is not necessary at this moment, but it is good to be prepared. _  
_ Josie: Would you like a hat? The commander stated you needed one?_  
_ Josie: I’ve put some chocolates in your room for when you return.   
M: Please stop buying clothes. Do you know anything about a reporter named Harding? _

She could imagine Bea got a kick out of trying to tell Josephine the full extent of Maria’s closet. Unlike her sister, Maria owned a manageable and practical amount of clothing. Bea had an outfit for everything, but Maria had a uniform and she _ liked _ it that way. Maria watched the dots appear on the screen, looked up just in time to meet Cassandra’s gaze. “Mother Giselle will meet us shortly. I would like to check the status of the defenses if you would consent to remain out of trouble for fifteen minutes.” 

“I think I can manage.” Maria huffed, looking down as her phone chimed. 

_ Josie: Yes, the media coverage so far has been much how you anticipated it would be. I thought perhaps it would be advantageous to have an embedded reporter. She has cleared Leliana’s background check process, no easy feat, I assure you.   
_ _ Josie: I sent you her CV via email, yes? _

There wasn’t enough time in the day for her to go through Josephine’s emails. Maria took a deep breath and responded.

_ M: Sorry, must have missed it. I told her she could stay but I wouldn’t be interviewed. _  
_ Josie: Excellent! If you do change your mind, please inform me so I can coach you on appropriate responses.   
Josie: I will purchase an outfit for TV interviews. Just in case. _

Maria was not taking all those clothes back to Ostwick. She slipped the phone back into her pocket and scanned the train station. The cavernous space was filled with people as far as she could see, but it lacked the appropriate bustle of humanity. Instead, everyone looked sullen, fearful, suspicious. Most didn’t even look up from the ground, their eyes resolutely on their feet as if frightened of what they’d see. The only conversations taking place were the ones between inquisition soldiers talking about the lack of supplies. Not enough clothing, not enough food, not enough medicine. Josephine shouldn’t be wasting money on clothing for her when these people were suffering. She’d have to call and force the woman to see that. 

She felt someone’s gaze on her shoulder and turned to confront it. A gaggle of children, the oldest one holding onto the two smallest, stared at her from the corner. Their faces were dirty and they all looked like they’d been crying. The eldest instantly ripped her eyes away, but the youngest continued to stare, thumb in his mouth. 

“Hungry.” Cole whispered. “Mom said she’d be here. Why isn’t she here? Where did she go? I miss mom. I want to go home, I want to…” 

“It’s alright Cole.” Maria slung her backpack off her shoulders and unzipped one of the pockets, grabbing a crinkling plastic wrapped pastry. It wasn’t _ nearly _ nutritious enough to be called sustenance, but she guessed it was better than nothing. She crossed the room silently, dropping into a crouch to look into the eyes of the two middle children. The eldest stood taller than her now, frightened eyes wary. “Hey. Do you think you guys could share two of these?” She asked softly. 

“Mom doesn’t like us to talk to strangers.” The eldest girl stated firmly, bravely. Maria’s heart ached for her, her shoulders so small to be burdened with the fate of the three children clinging to her. 

“I’m not a stranger.” Maria reassured, unwrapping one of the cakes. “I’m with the Inquisition.” 

“Do you know where mommy is?” One of the kids asked eagerly. Maria shook her head and tried to keep her soft smile in place.

“No sweetheart.” She admitted. “I don’t. But, I think these cakes might cheer you up.” 

She broke one in half and handed it to the two kids standing before she stood, unwrapping the second and breaking it in half. “I don’t need my half.” The girl holding the toddler protested immediately. “They can have it too.” 

“It’s not that good for them.” Maria pressed both halves into her hand. “You should eat it.” 

The girl blinked back tears and nodded. “My mom’s name is Clara. Clara Holt. If you find her can you… can you tell her we’re here?” 

“Course I can.” Maria nodded firmly and repeated the name. “Clara Holt.”

“Here.” Harding was at her elbow, camera in her hands. “Let me take a picture of you four so we can show her you’re safe. We can put it on the internet too and see if any of your family is looking for you.” 

“Cadash.” Cassandra called from behind her. Maria turned and blinked her own tears out of her eyes rapidly. The Seeker herself didn’t look unaffected, her expression forlorn and one arm reaching out and beckoning her closer. “Come, Mother Giselle can see you now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Maria's relationship with AIBianca ever improve? Will Cassandra admit to being a fan of Swords and Shields? Will Josephine stop buying clothes? Will Cole ever learn why the eggplant emoji is used? 
> 
> Stay tuned!


	10. The Price of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric asks questions he doesn't want to know the answer to.   
Maria pays the price for powers she didn't want.

Mother Giselle’s steady hands gripped a young man’s as a medic in combat fatigues stitched up a wound on his forearm. The woman’s warm brown eyes seemed to contain an endless amount of patience and strength while the man hissed and groaned. Maria guessed they didn’t have any anaesthetic and she could sympathize. After all, she knew better than to go to the hospital with suspicious wounds as a gang member, emergency room nurses were only too happy to call the police.

Once, Dwyka cracked her so hard with a beer bottle that Bea needed to shave part of her hair to stitch her skull back together. She wished her sister’s hands were as steady as the cleric’s. 

“You must be the one they call the Herald.” Giselle looked up from the face of the boy, rising gracefully from her knees and extending her hand. “It is an honor.” 

“No.” Maria blurted out. Giselle’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead and Maria winced. “I mean, yes. I guess that’s what they’re calling me, but I’m not…”

“This is the Herald of Andraste.” Cassandra muttered pointedly, shooting Maria a look that clearly said not to be difficult. Maria pursed her lips and opened her mouth to argue. 

“Maria Cadash, yes?” The Mother interrupted, smiling gently. “Your photos do not do you justice. You have kind eyes.” 

Not much could catch her off guard, but that did. Maria clicked her jaw shut immediately, looking askance at the cleric. 

“Yes.” Cole agreed from behind her. “They are.” 

Varric chuckled and she heard him urge Cole to follow him elsewhere, hopefully somewhere where Cole wouldn’t distract her with his odd, yet insightful comments or his bizarre way of helping. 

Honestly, just as well Varric was taking him away because Tethras served as an endless distraction with his damn half unbuttoned shirts, his infuriating smirk, his stupid bluetooth headset, and his irritatingly overprotective demeanor. 

She would  _ not _ admit that it was kind of sweet, not even to herself. 

“I am glad that you have come to see me.” Giselle swept her arm over the makeshift infirmary. “We are in dire straits, but the situation has improved vastly since the arrival of Inquisition forces. The risk of hypothermia, illness, and starvation still loom, but your efforts have helped.” 

“I haven’t done much.” Since waking, Maria did little except sit in rooms and listen to Cassandra, Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana talk circles around what to do. It was honestly enough to drive anyone insane. 

“You stopped the sky from spitting out demons, did you not?” Giselle smiled again. “That is more than a little, my child.” 

Maria shrugged awkwardly and looked up at Cassandra, hopelessly out of place. Cassandra’s jaw was set in a tense line and she was staring at the cleric, waiting for something to happen. Maybe the Seeker was more patient than Maria was, but sitting in silence seemed less than helpful. “You asked to see me?” 

Giselle nodded in response, sighing wearily. Suddenly, the woman looked ages older. “Yes. I fear that you are the only one that could help. It is not bad enough that we have templars and witches at our very door killing each other, careless of who is caught in the middle, but…” 

Giselle turned and waved for them to follow. Maria spared a glance over her shoulder to ensure Solas was still present. The elf nodded in encouragement and Maria stepped forward, Cassandra beside her. Giselle led her into a small, curtained area with a cluttered desk and a small statue of Andraste set up, a candle in her hands that fluttered in the breeze from a cracked window. “Excuse my makeshift office, Herald.” Giselle pleaded, picking up a slim laptop from the desk and opening it.

“Maria.” She corrected. Hell, she’d rather the woman call her Cadash like Cassandra did instead of encouraging this Herald nonsense. 

“We were busing in refugees during the cease fire.” Giselle stated while she opened her laptop and revealed a satellite photo, Maria assumed of the area. Giselle pointed to a neighborhood on the map and frowned. “There were civilians ensconced here, but their situation was untenable. We were able to remove about half of them, but…” 

“The temple exploded and the war was back on?” Maria guessed shrewdly. Giselle sighed and shook her head.

“I wish it were so simple.” Giselle admitted. “If it were so, I would simply send as many soldiers as we could and hope the Maker would protect the refugees from harm or that the templars and witches would see there was no sense in hurting innocent families. Instead… there is a crack in the world here.” Giselle jabbed her finger at the screen. 

“Ah.” Solas murmured from behind her. “And has the Inquisition sent patrols?” 

Cassandra glared at the image. “Several according to the Corporal Vale. The only one that was able to get close enough to investigate lost two men before coming back. Demonic forces are using the crack to enter the world.” 

Maria felt like someone slipped ice in the back of her shirt. “There’s no other way into that neighborhood?” 

Giselle’s elegant fingers traced the photo. “No. The northern border is rugged terrain, we could not expect children, the ill, or the elderly to make the trip safely. The west and the east are territories controlled by the Templars and Witches respectively.” 

Giselle looked up, her eyes steady and calm when they met Maria’s. “I was told you can close these cracks, Herald.” 

She had, once. She didn’t know if she could do it again and looked wildly over her shoulder for Solas. The elf stroked his chin with one hand, the other worrying the jawbone around his neck. “Yes.” Solas murmured. “It should be possible.” 

“It is dangerous.” Cassandra argued. “And you should not be put at more risk than is necessary since you are the key to closing the vortex.” 

“Are the demons attacking the people?” Maria asked, looking at the satellite photo again. She could see the neat, tidy houses distinguished by roofs in shades of brown, gray, and blue line up in perfect rows like toys. 

“If they have not done so yet, it is only a matter of time.” Solas advised seriously. “They are defenseless.” 

Cassandra’s fingers curled into a fist, her expression barely containing impotent rage. “How many?” 

“At least fifty. Perhaps more.” Giselle answered. 

The words came out easier than she thought they would, the trueness in them startling. “If I don’t close it, nobody else can. The Inquisition needs to get those people out of there, the Witches and Templars aren’t going to do it.” 

“If you assist me in rescuing the trapped refugees, I swear any assistance I can offer to the Inquisition. My contacts within the chantry, my knowledge of my brothers and sisters, my own reputation, whatever you need.” Giselle swore, eyes burning fervently. “Please, if you are doing the Maker’s work you must help.” 

The Seeker stood, stiff and unsure, glaring a hole into the laptop screen. “Cassandra, they’re going to die.” Maria realized she was running her thumb up and down the arrow tattoo on her wrist. She stilled her hands, but didn’t remove her fingers from her own skin. “I want to save them if I can.” 

“It is your decision.” Cassandra declared, eyes burning just as fiercely as Giselle’s. “It is your power that is needed, you who are most at risk. If you wish to seal this crack, I will accompany you, but if you do not…” 

“I will also assist.” Solas offered gallantly as she knew he would. “It would be good to see your power in action a second time at any rate.” 

“Should we get Varric, Cole, and Harding to make it a party?” Maria asked lightly. Cassandra made a disgusted noise low in her throat and rolled her eyes. 

xx

“So, kid, tell me how did you like Ostwick?” 

It wasn’t the best place to interrogate Cole, but hell if the kid was ever far away from Maria. On the rare occasions she got pulled into those endless meetings in the chantry, Solas took on babysitting with eagle-eyed vigilance. Varric honestly thought it’d be easier to start nicking the Seeker’s underwear. 

But he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth when it showed up. Solas demonstrated a fierce desire to keep Maria from being a figurehead for the chantry, a goal Varric didn’t disapprove of, and he knew the elf wasn’t going to let her meet with this Mother Giselle without him. Varric also realized, quickly, that Cole shouldn’t be involved in any sort of negotiation or delicate political meeting. 

“The ocean hits the docks. Salt sprays in the air, lingers in my nose. The cabs whiz past, Bea grabs my elbow, laughing, presses her lips to my cheek, tells me to stay close. She knows the maze of streets, feels the pavement in her pulse. It’s the beat she dances to and the tune she hums in the kitchen. Home.” 

“Maria dances?” Varric’s traitorous mind summoned the Herald rolling her hips to an imaginary drumbeat, a teasing smile over her shoulder as he watched her sway in a dimly lit room filled with the press of bodies, the kind of club Hawke favored before she became Champion. 

“Sometimes. Not often, not the way Bea does.” Cole tipped his head to the side, thoughtful. “Maria keeps her clothes on.” 

Varric couldn’t wait to wake up to  _ that _ headline. HERALD OF ANDRASTE’S SISTER KNOWN EXOTIC DANCER. Varric wondered if somebody had warned Ruffles yet, then immediately remembered Nightingale lurking in the shadows. They had to know. 

“What does Maria do in Ostwick?” Varric asked casually, guiding the kid around a line stretching across the train station for soup that smelled a bit like old socks. 

“The brick shattered the window. They wrote on it, filthy names, told them to go back to Rivain. It scared the shopkeeper’s family, so she scared the ones that threw it. The kid brings a cigarette to his mouth, laughing, asks if she wants a fight. She doesn’t. She wants to go home, she wants to read a book, she wants to go back to Hercinia  _ before _ it all went wrong. He turns to his friend, cigarette dangling from his pale lips. He didn’t know she had a gun. She wasn’t going to hurt them, but they didn’t know that. The bullet doesn’t hit him, but it takes the cigarette with it, embeds into the brick wall. Maria’s fingers are sure, steady, her voice a laugh as the kid turns startled eyes back to us. She told him that racism and cigarettes both cause cancer, told him to give it up. They ran away and Tulme smiled.” 

Be still his beating heart. Hawke’s concerns about him finding a new muse in Maria Cadash were becoming frighteningly realistic. He was about to press the kid for more details when Cole’s face darkened and the kid continued on as if he were powerless to stop himself. “But she was late to the docks because she helped Tulme. Dwyka doesn’t like it when she’s late, but she told me not to worry. Told me to go home. I didn’t want to, but she didn’t want me to see. Doesn’t want anyone to see.” 

There was that cold feeling of dread again. “See what?” Varric asked as mildly as he could, letting his eyes wander the room as if he could care less what the answer was. 

Cole’s voice was cold as ice when he spoke, harsh and angry. “Who she is when she’s with him. Who he makes her.” 

Varric had a vivid imagination and that one sentence held too many possibilities, none of them good. Varric didn’t know much about the head of the Ostwick Carta, what he did know was enough to make it abundantly clear he didn’t need to know more. Dwyka’s reputation as a greedy, sadistic man proceeded him across the Free Marches. Somehow, Varric hoped that Maria Cadash was at the bottom rung of the Carta, removed as far as possible from the bastard in charge. That looked like an increasingly remote possibility. 

So what did Dwyka have her doing that she didn’t want Cole to see? Kidnapping? Murder? Hooked on drugs? It had to be more than the lyrium she’d been clearly sent to sell at the conclave, nobody cared that much about a little lyrium smuggling. 

Still, something in Varric hesitated. She  _ clearly _ wasn’t doing drugs, someone would have noticed that. And there was no way Maria Cadash had such a dual personality that she could be handing out snack cakes to children weeks after committing murders in Ostwick, right?

Bartrand brought Varric lunch hours before he locked Hawke in a mine to die. It had been a surprising, and touching, occurrence. Varric thought it a thank you for  _ finding _ Hawke in the first place. Varric still couldn’t look at Rivaini food the same way, it tasted like betrayal now.

“You can’t know.” Cole muttered, scowled at his scuffed boots. “She doesn’t want anyone to know. If you don’t know, you’re safe from a bullet with her name on it.” 

Was that what got Fynn Dunhark? A bullet with Maria Cadash’s name on it?

xx

“These bullets are enchanted.” The Seeker held up silver shell casing, tipped it to the side so that Maria could see the runes engraved on it. They shimmered in the steel with suppressed power. “They are created  _ specifically  _ to kill demons, but the only fatal shot worth aiming for is the head. Demons have no heart.” 

Maria was always attentive to lessons, she was a hell of a student back in the day. “Are the runes the same? On all of them?” 

“On these, yes.” Solas did not handle the bullets themselves, acting as if he found them distasteful. “I have seen others warded to cause explosions, fires, freezing. Any number of enchantments.”

“Because regular bullets aren’t lethal enough.” Maria murmured, holding out her hand. The Seeker dumped a bunch of the shells in her palm and Maria rolled them in her skin, examined them critically. 

“In days of old, warriors carved runes in their swords and shields.” Solas smiled softly, sadly. “They were instruments of beauty as well as destruction.” 

“Don’t like guns, I take it?” Varric asked nonchalantly, but he didn’t bother to look up from his tablet screen, the one displaying the footage from the drone camera Harding was flying. In fact, he’d been making a studied lack of eye contact with her the past hour or so. Maria tried to ignore it and insisted on dismissing the sinking feeling in her gut. 

“Some can certainly be elegant.” Cassandra argued, setting her jaw stubbornly. 

“My father had one with a mother of pearl handle.” 

The words were out of her mouth before she really contemplated them and she couldn’t say why. Perhaps the runes shimmering on the bullets reminded her of the glossy light on the antique old gun. She hoped nobody had been paying attention, but of course when she looked up  _ everyone _ was staring at her. Apparently, that statement was interesting enough to even tear Varric’s eyes from the screen. Maria hunched her shoulders forward under their gaze. “He collected them. Had some pretty ones.” 

“My dad collects antique farming equipment.” Harding offered to break the silence. “It’s… well, they’re not pretty.” 

Well, slap her ass and call her a nug, Investigative Reporter Harding was quickly becoming her favorite person if just for her knack at saying precisely the right combination of weird and endearing at the right time. 

“Everyone needs a hobby, I guess.” Varric mumbled with a wry grin, dropping his eyes back to the tablet without meeting Maria’s again. It  _ shouldn’t _ irritate her, she reminded herself. 

“Aim for the head. Try not to die.” She repeated, pocketing the extra bullets. Her fingers brushed the square in her other pocket and she paused, thoughtful. 

She didn’t look at the news, but she’d bet Varric did. Had another report come out today? One delving even deeper into her own personal closet full of skeletons? Nobody mentioned anything, but the only two that seemed to do so frequently were Leliana and Josephine…

Maybe it was better to know what her companions were reading about her. She pulled the phone out, opened the internet browser and paused, wary, before typing in her name and hitting enter. 

There were  _ nine-hundred and thirty thousand  _ results. She bit back a startled laugh and scrolled down to the headlines that appeared first and the tiny thumbnail photos with them. Her breath caught when she saw the first one, the blood rushing to her ears. 

It was the photo Fynn kept as the wallpaper on his laptop. The one they took on the pier in Hercinia the day they went to the carnival there. They bought cotton candy and caramel popcorn, played the games and gave the prizes they won to small children with wide eyes and toothy grins. 

Well, they said nothing posted to the internet ever vanished. Had Fynn put it on Facebook? She’d have allowed it, there weren’t any distinguishing landmarks. You couldn’t even tell it was a pier or that the city behind them was Hercinia.

Sweet Andraste, they both looked so heartbreakingly young. 

She needed to read the headline beside it three times before her brain absorbed any of the words, before she strung them together. Weapons heir murdered. Cadash acquitted. Friends and family still mourn. 

_ She _ still mourned him, more than the bloodsucking leeches that shared his blood, but nobody ever wrote that. 

“Cadash!” 

Her head snapped up and she faced Cassandra’s steely glare. “If you are not going to pay attention, I will confiscate that device!” 

Thank the Maker for Cassandra. She needed the laughter that statement brought, made her fingers steadier than they’d be otherwise as she slipped the device into her pocket next to the runed bullets. “Sorry, Seeker. Just needed to check Twitter.” 

“You still trending?” Harding asked brightly. 

“Yes!” Varric grinned, looking back up and tapping the screen. “We’ve got a  _ beautiful  _ visual here.” 

“Uh… that’s an awful lot of demons to be called beautiful but whatever works for you, I guess.” Harding looked askance at Varric. 

“Finally.” Cassandra loaded her own clip and jerked her head at Maria. “Come. Let us end this.” 

Maria took a deep breath and nodded. 

xx

Thank Andraste's sweet tits they left Cole in Mother Giselle's care. Maria said the boy was good with a knife in a pinch, but he definitely didn't think knives were gonna do much about the towering inferno guarding the smoking crack in the world. 

"Seeker?" Maria asked quietly. 

Cassandra made a noise that was both impatient and discouraging. It didn't stop Maria from looking over at her. "What do I aim at when the head isn't exactly  _ head-like _ ?" 

Varric snorted in amusement before he could help himself. Solas glared at him for Cassandra, but Varric couldn't help but feel it was a fair question. "Perhaps allow Solas to handle that one." Cassandra directed tersely. 

"And when they're gone, I just walk up and push my hand against that thing?" Maria continued. 

"Yes." Solas agreed. "That is what worked last time." 

"What if something reaches out and grabs me?"

Maria looked serious, but her eyes were sparkling. Cassandra whipped her head to the side and snapped quietly. 

"Maker's breath, did you not think to ask any of these before we made it this far?" 

"Would you believe they didn't occur to me?" Maria asked. 

"Oh for the love of…" Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose. Maria's lips quirked up in amusement and her eyes flicked past the Seeker to his. 

For a brief second, he could almost convince himself she was riling the Seeker up just to make Varric laugh. But that sounded implausible so he dismissed it roundly and ripped his eyes from hers. "Seeker Pentaghast and I will get closer. At the signal, you will cover us." Solas reminded them all severely. 

"That part I remember." Maria readied her weapon and took a deep breath. "Go on then." 

Solas and Cassandra both melted away into the brush on either side of them, leaving Varric and Maria alone staring down the hill at the narrow road leading to the crack in the world. If he squinted, he could see one of the bridges into the little town chock full of innocent people, but Varric could hear nothing but the disgustingly charming sounds of nature around them. He also couldn’t quite ignore the simmering tension between him and the redhead on his left. 

“The news stories aren’t all true.” Maria blurted out, both defensive and awkward. 

Varric, apparently, was wrong about Maria ignoring the news coverage. “That doesn’t surprise me half as much as you think, Princess. They got Kirkwall all wrong too.” 

Sure, the facts were the facts either way you cut them. Hawke and Varric willfully hid a warlock from the appropriate authorities for something like eight years, said warlock blew up the Chantry, war happened because of it. 

But that didn’t take into account the possessed demon cat, the red lyrium, the Viscount’s murder, and the fact that Anders was their friend running a free clinic in the slums, drinking cheap beer with him at the Hanged Man, making googly eyes at Hawke behind her back and…

Maker, Varric never saw it coming. 

“Then why are you acting like I did something wrong?” She demanded. 

Damnit, she was too observant for her own good. He couldn’t risk breaking his concentration by looking at her, but he could picture her eyes flashing in the sunlight. 

“You know, I had a source in Ostwick get on the wrong side of the Carta there about three years ago. Dwyka got a hold of him before I could pull the kid out.” Varric waited, but Maria didn’t say anything. Varric soldiered on. “He was in the ICU for a week and he still has a shit memory.” 

“Are you trying to ask if I was there?” 

“Were you?” Varric hadn’t actually meant to ask that, but if it was on the table… 

“I don’t beat people up for Dwyka.” She hissed. 

“What do you do?” Varric asked. “Cause I just can’t get my head around a woman like you working for that bastard if you know what he’s like, and I have a hard time believing you  _ don’t  _ know.” 

“I know.” 

He’d expected her to deny it, but her admission was both utterly sincere and frighteningly quiet. She wasn’t looking at him when he chanced a glance at her, she was staring down into the valley as if nothing was more fascinating than the rip in the world and the demons surrounding it. 

Which was definitely where he needed to be focusing too, but he was floored by the brush of her lashes against her cheek, the tumultuous emotions swirling around her eyes. 

She didn’t like who she was, who he made her, but there was good in her. She didn’t have to go back to Ostwick when this was all done, he could offer to spirit her away to wherever she wanted. 

“I shake down businesses for protection money and I smuggle lyrium. That’s what I do for Dwyka.” She answered, finger lightly brushing the trigger of her gun. “I also do a substantial amount of illegal gambling, but that’s more on my own time for both fun and profit. I don’t hurt people. I  _ never _ hurt anyone unless I don’t have another choice, I promise.” 

Before Varric could respond to that, he heard the crack of gunfire beneath him. Varric looked down just in time to watch frost creeping over the towering pillar of flames that Hawke said represented rage. Maria’s gun went off next, taking a shade down before it could turn its attention to Solas as the ground broke open beneath the rage demon and Cassandra shouted to redirect another shade.

“That’s my cue.” Maria muttered before she vanished into the underbrush. He could just catch sight of her hair weaving and ducking through the foliage before she stumbled out onto the road, aiming one other bullet at a wraith grasping at her with long, pointed claws. 

Varric blew the head off one of the shades before it could follow Maria, then turned his attention to trying to keep the slimy, wretched things off the Seeker while he carefully picked his own way down the slope. 

Unfortunately, it seemed Solas  _ didn’t _ have that rage demon under control. As if sensing the biggest danger to its existence wasn’t the elf trying to freeze it, but the small figure creeping closer and closer to the crack it emerged from, it turned in a whirl of flames. 

“Princess!” Varric called in warning, but he didn’t accomplish anything more than drawing the demon’s attention to him. Varric found himself staring up at a mountain of lava, the chest hair exposed already beginning to smoulder, and wishing valiantly that he’d have just stayed in Kirkwall. The demon roared back to suck in air, a prelude to the flames he knew were coming, and he started to retreat to the side, as quickly as he could. 

He didn’t expect to be rugby tackled to the ground just as the flames spewed over both his head and the fall of red hair tickling his jawbone. They’d rolled several paces away and Varric could feel his skin tingling on the right. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his own arm laying perilously close to the crack in the world, the smoke spewing from it raising up in lazy circles. 

Maybe something was going to reach through and grab  _ him _ .

Before he could let the horror of that thought sink in, Maria leaned over and pressed her own palm against the ground. He felt the power he couldn’t see, a force like a strong wind that snapped against his body and cause the rage demon to choke on its own flames. Maria’s hand flickered, Varric was close enough to see how her skin became translucent. He could see the wound in the world stitching itself closed through her, the crack growing dimmer and dimmer before vanishing, her skin solidifying. 

Varric quickly became aware that her hand wasn’t the only solid part of her worth focusing on. They’d landed in a position when she tackled him that… damnit, that he  _ really _ didn’t need to be able to picture as perfectly as he could now. 

She straddled one of his muscular thighs with both of hers, the rasp of fabric against fabric overly loud when she shifted. She still had one hand pressed to the ground to their right where the crack had sealed, but her other was braced over the red silk button-up he was wearing, the tips of her thumb just brushing bare skin. Lose strands of her hair teased his skin and her knee…

Her left knee was in a position where if she moved it just a tiny bit in a certain direction, he wasn’t going to be responsible for what happened next. Varric was honestly afraid to take his eyes off her right hand and look up just in case he saw…

What? Disgust? Or worse, the blooming heat he could feel in his own veins? 

“Right.” Varric gasped, his mouth moving before his body could betray him any more than it already did. “Good job team. Princess, can you…” 

Her left hand curled into the cloth covering his skin, her fingers burning through the fabric and Varric felt his heart thud unevenly in response. He wanted this, he wanted her to twist the fabric and lean closer until her breasts brushed against his chest. He wanted her to capture his lips in a slow, leisurely kiss that was all wicked, sinful passion and playful teasing.

He wanted to fuck the Herald of Andraste right here and there wasn’t really any use acting like he didn’t want it. Still, he couldn’t, he couldn’t because she was Carta, she was also  _ holy _ , and she…

She tackled him out of the way of certain injury even though he had to piss her off. 

As his thoughts scattered and sparked, he watched as her right hand slowly raise off the ground. 

That’s when he realized her fingers were shaking. He swung an alarmed gaze up to Maria’s face, saw the crimson blood dripping from her nose as she touched it. She pulled her trembling fingertips away to examine them before looking down at him. Varric could see his concern reflected back at him even as he let go of his shotgun and eased one arm around her waist, not to pull her body to him like his cock demanded, but to steady her as she swayed lightly.

“We’ve got to stop meeting this way.” Maria joked, trying to shove him away weakly. 

“Tell me about it.” Varric muttered as Maria’s eyes blinked slowly, dazed. She was trying to focus on his face, but he could tell she struggled. 

Then her eyes rolled back and she pitched forward into his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angsty dark chapter is dark and angsty :-( 
> 
> Next chapter: Blackwall!


	11. The Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The legend of the Herald begins to take off.   
Varric trudges through nature despite his better judgement.

She woke up aching, sore, her head throbbing and her muscles stiff. Even her tongue felt wooden and clumsy as she stirred in a bed hard as wood. Her immediate thought, before she recalled anything else, was that she  _ really  _ needed to stop drinking. 

Then someone began to cough, a deep, rattling cough speaking of illness and suffering. Maria opened her eyes, alarmed, stared up at the gray brick ceiling far above her. 

"Shh." Cole whispered, and she felt his fingers curl around hers. "It's okay. They brought you back because it hurt you, but you're okay now." 

Maker, she never thought she’d  _ wish _ the worst thing she had to deal with was Dwyka and a hangover. 

She propped herself up on one elbow. Cole was holding her hand calmly, pale eyes steady while she took in their location. Curtains separated wherever she was from another room. She suspected there were more little sectioned off cubicles just like this one, all housing the ill and injured. She was on a stiff cot, little better than a board, with a scratchy woolen blanket thrown over her and something ridiculously soft underneath her head. She reached for it unconsciously and withdrew the Seeker’s scarf, the rich soft cotton no longer blood stained. In the same movement, she saw Cassandra herself propped into a nearby chair, head dipped and arms crossed, long legs stretched out as far as she was able. 

“She worried you wouldn’t wake up.” Cole supplied. “They all worried.” 

“Guess that would ruin their plans, huh?” She asked, pulling away from Cole and stretching slowly against the dull ache in her muscles. 

“Yes.” Cole admitted, propping his chin in his hands. “But that’s not why they worry.” 

The curtain twitched and Solas appeared as if by magic, his long pointed shadow in the dim light both reassuring and calming. “You’re awake.” 

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” She asked with a small laugh. She couldn’t see Solas smiling, but she felt it. 

“How do you feel?” 

Claustrophobic, honestly. She could hear the seething mass of refugees and a part of her conjured them pressing against her, crowding her, hands on her skin and pleas burying her. “I could use some fresh air.” 

“I will accompany you.” Solas offered gallantly while he offered her his arm. “But I fear we won’t be able to go far.” 

“I can make it.” She protested, swinging her sore legs out of the cot and standing, steady despite the tremors rocking her muscles. 

“That is not the issue. I suspect if we attempt to leave the perimeter, the soldiers on guard will rouse the Seeker.” Solas advised neutrally.

“She does have outrageously long legs, so I guess outrunning her isn’t an option.” Maria continued, rubbing her head to try and ease the ache inside her temples. “I am very good at hiding though.” 

“I do not doubt it.” Solas remarked dryly. He hadn’t moved his elbow and she relented finally, allowing him to steer her out of the makeshift emergency room cubby they shoved her into. She was a bit amused to find out that the one right next to her was occupied by one snoring dwarf, his mouth hanging wide open as he laid on an identical damn uncomfortable cot. The curtain hung wide open and she fought the urge to toss a pillow at Varric Tethras just for the fun of it (and for asking so many damn questions, if she was being honest with herself.) 

“Is he hurt?” She asked instead. 

“Hardly.” Solas sniffed. 

“They were fighting.” Cole inclined his head back at the other cubicle where Seeker Pentaghast still slept. “Her fault for using you. His for needing rescued. But neither of them are to blame, so Solas separated them.” 

"Mister Tethras very much wanted to stay with you, but the Seeker accused him of leering." Solas stated without any semblance of emotion. 

Varric didn’t leer, Maria  _ knew _ leering. Varric certainly appreciated, though, and well… there wasn’t anything wrong with that. She’d almost forgotten how it felt to be  _ wanted _ by someone who didn’t feel like a damn threat. 

“Glad to know someone’s watching out for my maidenly virtue, I guess.” 

“But you’re not…” 

“Thank you Cole.” Maria interrupted before  _ that _ could go any further. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat instead and indicated the entrance with a tilt of her head. “Take me outside before I lose my damn mind.” 

Although, honestly, she hadn’t completely discounted the thought that maybe she already had. Neither Cole or Solas protested her plan. Cole fell in beside her and Solas immediately took the lead, moving through the quiet, mostly sleeping crowd. There was a path marked by neon yellow tape, but Solas didn’t even look at it.

“Thank you!” 

Before Maria could examine the source of the noise, stick thin arms wrapped around her from the side and tugged her into a bruising embrace. It was the child, the one she’d given sweets to, although it took Maria a moment to recognize her. Before Maria could say anything else, the girl beamed up in the dim light. “Mom’s here! With us! They said you made the road safe and… thank you!” 

Maria chanced a confused look pleading for clarification to Solas. He cleared his throat with a small smile before he spoke. “As soon as you sealed the crack and we returned you to safety, buses and soldiers were sent to evacuate the remaining civilians. I am told that if you had not acted, the situation within the cut-off areas would have been fatal within days.” 

“Oh.” It was a stupid thing to say, but it was the only thing she could think of. She couldn’t help smiling back at the kid squeezing her waist. “I hardly did anything, kid.” 

“It was your choice, was it not?” Solas asked pointedly. “And you who took the risk?” 

“Thank you.” The girl whispered again before stepping back. “I just… thank you.” 

She could feel herself blushing, but before she could make her tongue say anything else the girl vanished. Maria took the opportunity to glare at Solas. “I didn’t do anything.” 

“You were instrumental in the rescue of nearly one hundred people from starvation, illness, and violent death.” Solas reasoned. 

“I passed out on top of Varric.” She thought she remembered that, anyway. She’d found herself on top of him, his bulk solid beneath her, his heart hammering from adrenaline so hard she could feel it in her fingertips. She remembered the dizziness, the throbbing in her head, the crimson stain of blood on her skin and…

Yeah, her imagination was good, but definitely not good enough to conjure up exactly the way Varric’s breath hitched when she gripped his shirt in a fruitless attempt to stop from keeling over.

“Yes.” Solas suddenly looked grieved, his eyes heavy with loss. “Yes. You did.” 

By the time they made it outside, they’d lost Cole. He’d turn up, eventually, so Maria didn’t worry. It occurred to her that she may have more important things to worry about. The soldiers gave them a respectful wide berth as they sat under emergency flood lights, ones that drowned out the stars above them. In the distance, far away but close enough to still be concerning, Maria thought she heard gunfire. 

There was one question she needed to ask, one she may never get the courage to face head on again. But here, in this formerly idyllic little town ravaged by war… well, if she was dying here, she certainly wasn’t alone. Lots of people died there, lots of people would die before the war was over. 

Still, she couldn’t form the question. Instead, she fell back on stating the obvious. She was beginning to understand why Cassandra favored that tactic. “I’m not alright.” 

“Currently, you are stable.” Solas repeated as if afraid to face the alternative. Maria pushed. 

“Was I stable a couple hours ago?” 

Solas frowned and stared into the boarded up windows of the house across the street from the train station. Then he let out a long sigh. “No.” He admitted. “I fear that using whatever magic you now have to close the crack cost you.” 

What did it cost her? Would they find in a couple weeks her heart was failing? Her liver? Maybe it would be like that flesh eating bacteria she saw on the news and she’d find that the magic ate its way through her very skin. Would she end up with cancer, the same way her grandmother did? Would it start the same way - a cough that lingered for months before the chest pain started?

“So, my chances of walking away at the end of all this… fifty-fifty?” She guessed, judging my Solas’s dour expression.

“I confess I am uncertain.” Solas tightened his fist around that damn jawbone. “That you survived at all is miraculous. Your body will either adjust to the power that surges through you or it will fail.”

“Do you think I’ll survive?” She almost whispered the question into the night, couldn’t meet Solas’s eyes when she asked. She focused instead on the powerlines swaying in the breeze above them. A pair of sneakers, knotted together, hung from them. She wondered if the person they belonged to wished they still had their running shoes. 

“I do not believe you will.” 

She let out a breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding, bowed her head to her chest and clenched her hands into fists inside her jacket pockets. It was like a tangible blow, one that made her eyes water and her chest hurt. 

She didn’t want to die, not yet, not now. 

She didn’t expect Solas to continue talking, his voice shocked her when he began again. “Even if you do not die of the power coursing through your veins, you have been thrust into a dangerous game full of demons, power-mad despots, and magic. Perhaps they will shoot you in battle, or burn you as they did the witches of old. You may even sacrifice yourself to erase the vortex, I do not know. I know only that I intend to help you survive for as long as I can. I do not believe you should perish because you ran to an old woman’s aid.” 

His words rocked her to the core. “You’re going to try and save me?” 

“Yes.” Solas declared. “I am, and I doubt I will be the only one. Perhaps that is enough.” 

She almost confessed that the last person that tried to save her died for his effort, but she choked on the words and the flood of tears they nearly always brought. Instead, she lapsed into a heavy, awkward silence broken only by the muffled conversation of soldiers and the sounds of the great mass of humanity inside the train station.

“What would you do if I told you that this place was once nothing more than fields and forest? Bears made their home here and the Avaar tribes fought great, bloody battles.”

“I’d call bullshit.” Maria admitted, staring down at her shiny new boots. At least slowly dying had its perks, she guessed. 

‘I’ve seen that in the fade.” Solas continued seriously. “I saw an Avaar ritual to marry two youths. The first needed to prove his dedication to her betrothed. The only way to do so was to hunt and vanquish the largest of the bears in the forest and lay the pelt at the feet of her intended. She tricked the bear into the lake, where the mud caused it to sink and stick. She felt sorry to have killed it, for it was a noble beast.” 

In spite of herself, she was taken in. “Did you really see that?” 

“Yes.” Solas smiled. “I can tell you another story of what I have seen, if you wish. Perhaps it will help you forget the uncertainties of life. I am afraid I am no Varric Tethras, but…” 

She suspected if Varric started to tell her a long, drawn out story he wouldn’t get very far before she was interrupting him by demanding he put that sinfully rich voice and clever mouth to better use. This was  _ much _ safer. 

“Alright, Solas.” Maria leaned against the cold bricks of the train station. “Tell me your best stories.” 

xx

Varric’s protesting, aching back woke him up when the light streaming in from the skylights was still watery and dim. He blinked several times, trying to place where he was and why it felt like he slept on a concrete slab. The events of the previous day rushed back all at once and made him swing his wooden limbs from the cot with several muttered curses. He popped his earpiece back in his ear.

“Bianca.” He yawned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anything important?” 

“Your request for the sealed records from Hercinia v. Maria Cadash has been denied. The city sent an official statement stating that they are denying all requests in this matter.” Bianca alerted him gently. “You’ve got a text message from an unknown number, but it appears to be from Isabela.” 

“Is it dirty?” Varric asked with a chuckle.

“It would be considered pornographic under several statutes. She states she has taken Kitten into her care.” 

Oh, that was some of the best news he could hear to start his morning. He hadn’t really been worried about the rest of them, Aveline was a one-woman battering ram, Hawke had Broody, Sunshine had Choir Boy, and Rivaini did fine on her own but Daisy… yeah, he always fucking worried about Daisy. Knowing she was with Rivaini was enough to make him grin. 

“Your publisher also sent an email that you’re behind schedule. Again.” 

And just like that, good mood ruined. “Her red pen getting antsy?” He grumbled, tugging on his boots before whipping the curtain open. The crowd milling in the train station was still a quiet murmuring crowd, but in the bright dawn light, he could almost sense something… different.

Something he started to sense the night before when those buses pulled up with the first bunch of rescued refugees, when relatives caught sight of those missing and thought dead. 

Hope. 

He turned to the next alcove and paused, stunned at the sight. Along the bottom of the canvas were a few small, insignificant items. A bundle of wildflowers tied with a ripped piece of cloth, a packet of cookies, a drawing of a landscape with a note in the corner saying thank you, and several homemade cards made with nothing more than torn notebook paper and pen. 

Offerings for their Herald, he thought. Hawke had been injured in the fight that saw her named Champion and the offerings they left outside her mansion came up to Varric’s chest. Those had been showier, bouquets of roses and wreaths, photos and candles. 

These people had nothing, but they felt the need to give Maria  _ something _ . Anything. 

He moved some of the gifts and opened the curtain, eyes falling first on the Seeker slumped in the chair she insisted he vacate the night before, then on the empty cot beside her. 

Oh, he was going to  _ enjoy _ this. 

“Seeker!” Varric shouted. Cassandra stirred, eyes opening blearily and taking in his form before she muttered something in a foreign tongue, then one word.

“What?” 

“Where’s Cadash?” Varric asked, gesturing expansively to the empty cot. “Out for a walk?” 

Cassandra’s expression flitted from emotion to emotion within seconds. First, complete and utter irritation, then stunned disbelief, before finally settling into a mask of concerned aggravation. “She is not with you?” 

“Despite me leering, as you so nicely put it, I’m not the type of man to take advantage of an injured woman.” Varric continued the aggrieved tone he’d been using last night. He also thought, privately, these cots were nowhere near big enough for the kind of bedroom activities he preferred. 

Cassandra leapt out of the chair and into action, leaving Varric to follow in her wake as she scattered refugees and aid workers in every direction. Finally, she pinned Vale with her eyes and motioned him over. “Where is she?” Cassandra demanded. 

“Who?” Vale asked, one arm wrapped around a box of medicine, the other holding a bottle of water. Varric watched Cassandra battle the urge to take the water bottle and beat him with it.

“The Herald.” Cassandra muttered through clenched teeth.

“Ah… I didn’t know… were we supposed to be watching her?” Vale asked. 

“Hey!” 

Varric recognized that voice and turned to his very favorite reporter with a grin. Harding had appropriated a small space and had two laptops set up, her camera in between them and her hair piled into a messy bun on her head. She looked up and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “That strange kid went outside with a ball of twine and a sheet ages ago. You’re… you’re looking out for him right?” 

“Thanks, Harding.” Varric winked in her direction and the dwarf flushed crimson in spite of herself. He watched the woman drop her eyes down to her laptops with a concerted effort. It was good to know that he hadn’t lost all his considerable charm, even if he was being bested at every turn by Maria Cadash. 

Varric didn’t know who made the little tent out of nothing more than twine pulled between two street signs and a large, white sheet, but Varric was impressed. Daisy herself couldn’t have done better, and he was even remarkably sure this little setup had nothing to do with blood magic, always an open question mark with Merrill. 

In the opening at the end, he could see tell-tell apple red hair resting on her arm curled beneath her head. Something that had been tensed inside him relaxed immediately at the sight. He hadn’t realized he’d assumed the worst until that moment, but she was fine. Solas sat beside the makeshift tent, legs crossed, face turned up to the dawn in meditation. 

“Why is she out here?” Cassandra demanded, her own posture easing only slightly. Solas opened one eye disapprovingly. 

“She is allowed to venture outside.” Solas reprimanded, closing his eyes again. 

“It is a war zone!” Cassandra protested.

“Cole remained awake in case danger arose.” Solas answered calmly. 

“Did you sleep in the tent too, Chuckles?” Varric teased. 

To the elf’s credit, he didn’t color. “For a few hours.” 

In that small, semi-enclosed space with the very tempting body of Maria Cadash right beside him. Varric didn’t know whether to pity the elf or give in to a surge of good-natured jealousy. Varric dropped down into a crouch beside the opening to the tent and lightly prodded Maria’s shoulder. “Up and at ‘em, Princess.”

Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks before she opened those stunning eyes and met his with a look both utterly relaxed and vaguely questioning. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and she opened that pretty mouth to say one word. “Varric?” 

Good-natured jealousy it was, then, because the sound of that sultry, sleep rough voice saying his name sent a lance of heat straight through him. “That’s me, beautiful. I know the cot was rough, but I can’t imagine the ground is much better.” 

Maria yawned and buried her face into her arm, making a muffled noise of protest against waking. She mumbled something into her jacket and Varric tipped his head to the side, grinning. 

“They don’t have any.” Cole’s voice rang from the opposite end of the tent. “I looked everywhere, I’m sorry.” 

Maria groaned in despair, raising her eyes back to his and blinking them slowly. “Coffee.” She mumbled, rubbing at her eyes. “The things I would do for a cup of coffee.” 

Depending on those things, Varric thought he could find coffee somewhere. 

Maria’s hand reached into the pocket of her jacket as she rolled onto her back, brought the phone he gave her to her face and peered at the blinking screen. She swiped her finger across it and frowned at the notification, scrolling down several long messages interspersed with photos. 

“Is the Seeker out there?” Maria asked, suddenly alert. 

“I am here.” Cassandra went to drop by the entrance of the tent, but Maria had already rolled to her knees and pushed away from the flattened grass. She held her phone up with a questioning eyebrow. 

“Leliana wants us to go look for someone? She said you told her no.” 

“I did.” Cassandra stiffened. “I do not wish to traipse through this area with you.” 

“Why not?” Maria demanded, taking Varric’s offered hand and allowing him to help her stand. She seemed… fine. Her eyes danced with life, her skin felt warm, and there wasn’t any trace of blood on her face. It was almost enough to make him forget that she’d passed out in the first place. 

Almost. 

“You are valuable.” Cassandra argued. Maria bristled in response. 

“Everyone is valuable.” Solas smiled at Maria’s stern response, continuing to keep his eyes closed. “She says she’s worried about an old friend, she’s hoping this guy knows what happened to her and he’s nearby.” 

“You were hurt.” Cassandra frowned at the remembered memory. “We must return you to safety before…” 

“I’m fine now.” Maria pointed out. “I want to go find this Gordon Blackwall person. She says he’s a Warden, you know how weird and mystic those people are. Maybe they can help with that thing...” She gestured impotently to the vortex in the distance. 

“I will not take you.” Cassandra glared down at the small dwarf. Maria paused, thoughtfully staring up at the Seeker before she grinned.

“Fine, I’ll go myself.” 

Bluff called. Varric chuckled as Maria grabbed her bag from the ground and slipped it over her shoulder. “C’mon Cole.” 

“You cannot!” Cassandra protested in distress. 

“I will accompany you as well.” Solas rose gracefully from his seat.

“Count me and Bianca in, Princess.” Varric winked and tapped his earpiece. “We hate to be left out.” 

"Good." Maria smirked down at her phone. "I think I owe you a turn locked in the damn car." 

Well, he could be convinced to let that happen, particularly if it involved that crooked little lilt to her lips. 

Cassandra capitulated grudgingly rather than consent to let Maria peel off on her own. That's how they ended up scoping out abandoned cabins in the damn mountains outside the little town. 

"Andraste's ass." Varric huffed after he tripped after another damn tree root walking from one charmingly derelict cabin to the next. "All this nature is making me itchy." 

"I have benadryl if you require it.” The Seeker muttered darkly. Varric sent her a roguish grin over his shoulder.

“If I didn’t know better, Seeker, I’d say you’d prefer me unconscious.” 

“There is more than one way to render you such, dwarf.”

“I have several favorite ways if you’re interested…” 

Maria laughed from in front of them and Solas sighed wearily while Cassandra turned an interesting shade of crimson. 

“I don’t understand.” Cole muttered at Maria’s elbow. She patted it affectionately and smiled up at him. 

“Maybe when you’re older, kid.” She promised, turning her attention back to the scenery around them. At least she seemed to be enjoying herself with the wide-eyed curiosity of someone who hadn’t spent that much time in the great outdoors. Varric wasn’t the only one who lived in the city his whole life, but at least he’d been dragged out of it throughout his childhood. He wondered if Maria Cadash even saw beyond city parks. She looked good out here, wild and free, the dappled sunlight turning her hair to fire.

Before Varric could think any more about that, his nice, expensive boots sunk into the mud and he swore loudly. He was just building up steam for a proper fit of bitching when Solas shushed him and pointed through the trees. 

Far enough away to still be indistinct, a man sat with his back to them at the edge of a pier. He had a fishing rod in his hand and a rifle laying, casually, beside him. The entire scene screamed set-up to Varric (who took their rifle out with them fishing?), but for who, Varric didn’t know. 

Before he could express reservations, before any of them could even sit or plan or talk about how they’d approach the weird loner on the dock, Maria broke through the tree line with practiced casualness, hips swaying as she waltzed right into danger.

“Gordon Blackwall?” She called cheerfully, as if the man didn’t have a rifle, as if they weren’t in the middle of a war zone. 

The man jerked, hand flying to the rifle beside him immediately although he didn’t raise it, didn’t drop his fishing pole. Instead, he looked over his shoulder and pinned Maria with an expression torn between disbelief and annoyance. “Who are you, how do you know my name, and what are you doing out here?” He demanded. 

Maria held out her hands expansively, showing that they were empty, her weapon holstered at her hip. She stepped out onto the docks, the rest of them trailing behind her anxiously. Whatever tension lingered in the air, Maria either didn’t feel it or seemed intent on recklessly ignoring it. Her eyes lingered on the man in front of her, amused, curious. She took in his salt and pepper hair, his beard, the flannel rolled up to reveal brawny arms dusted with dark hair. 

“I have some questions about the Grey Wardens.” That smoky, teasing edge danced on Maria’s voice and suddenly, Varric knew exactly what she was doing. 

The same moment he realized it was  _ definitely  _ going to work because you’d have to be as stone cold as Solas to  _ not _ picture that voice in a bedroom saying all sorts of other, filthy things. The man dragged his eyes from hers, settled on her lips, chanced a glance over her sinful figure then surged back upwards, helpless. 

A fish on a hook, and she didn’t even need a rod. 

“Movement detected at three o’clock.” Bianca chimed in his ear. “Satellite image suggests weaponry.” 

“Princess, might want to wrap this up quick.” Varric muttered. Torn from her concentration on the man in front of them, Maria scowled over her shoulder in their general direction. That scowl clearly said one couldn’t rush these things. 

And if she hadn’t turned to look at them, the red sighting dot that landed on her cheek may have flashed over her eyes, given her the time she needed to react. As it was, everything happened in slow motion. The red sighting dot trembled on her pale skin while she remained blissfully unaware. He heard Cassandra’s sharp intake of breath, but there wasn’t enough time, the rest of them still stood at the edge of the dock, and the only person close enough to…

The sound of the gunshot echoed. 

Before anyone could say anything else, before they could react, Blackwall moved. He’d seen what Maria hadn’t, knocked her to the dock with a clatter and a sharp gasp as he knelt above her. The bullet whizzed harmlessly by and plopped further into the lake. For one breathless moment, Blackwall’s face hovered over Maria’s stunned one. 

“Help or get out.” Blackwall ordered, grabbing his rifle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sexual tension continues to smolder.


	12. The Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria recruits a Warden.  
Varric helps her rebel against Cassandra.

Let no one say Maria Cadash couldn’t follow instructions when the situation required it. Despite the fact that her head hit the dock hard enough to make her eyes water, her gun found its way into her hand by the time she rolled onto her side. She even managed to hold it steady enough to take a shot at one of the figures emerging, shooting, from the other side of the lake. 

Help or get out. _ Fuck _this guy. 

“Expecting company?” She asked instead, impressively pithy in her own mind despite the lingering breathlessness of a large human landing on her. She could feel the bruises forming already. “I seem to have interrupted something.” 

“I’ve had worse interruptions, but yes.” Blackwall grumbled. “You’re a hell of a shot though.” 

She couldn’t help it, she laughed at the flicker of pleasant surprise animating the gruff man’s features. She could guess that Blackwall was a simple man, the kind that preferred his women easy, his beer cheap, and his shots straight. Altogether, an uncomplicated life. 

It must be nice to have something like that. 

And then, the dock exploded in splinters beside her, high velocity ammunition sending slivers of wood flying. She heard Cassandra holler, but there wasn’t anything to do except… 

She winced internally. There was nowhere to go, exposed as she was, except roll off the dock and into the green water below. Maria debated, in a split second, whether death was preferable to the inevitable hypothermia. And then, with a resigned groan, she rolled.

The water sent a shock through her, so icy cold it burned her skin. Still, she had enough presence of mind to hold her gun high up out of the water, preventing it from being submerged at the very least. The water itself came up to her shoulders, enveloping her from the neck down in freezing, dirty water. A part of her screamed in frustration. The other part of her took careful aim and dropped a woman pointing a rifle at Cole. 

“Herald!” Solas shouted from above.

“I’m fine!” She sputtered in aggravation. She’d never be warm again, her clothes were probably ruined, along with her new phone, and she was in water that housed living fish, but otherwise alive. “And don’t bleedin’ call me Herald!” 

Cassandra’s scoff carried the whole way under the dock. Maria ducked behind one of the support posts as best she could, managing to drag herself another inch or so out of the slimy water. “Who are these people?” She shouted upwards. 

“Thugs and lowlives!” Blackwall answered sharply. “Preying on the people trapped up here by the war. Formed their own little militia and…” 

He didn’t finish his sentence, instead picking off two of the gang circling them. “I decided to give them some payback for their victims.” He continued dourly. 

Well, she supposed Grey Wardens had to do something when there wasn’t a blight. Maria remembered the horrid images from the last one. She’d been immersed in her own problems, honestly, and the blight was occuring safely across the Waking Sea so it seemed like a distant concern. Still, she’d spent many nights curled up on a couch next to Fynn watching starving children covered in reeking black sores flash on the news. It seemed surreal, unbelievable, to sit and sip hot coffee with Fynn’s arm a comforting weight on her shoulders and watch those images. Almost as surreal as picturing that cozy domestic scene and contrasting it with her current life. 

If the priests were right about the blight being sent to punish the world for their sins… well, maybe the world deserved it. 

As quickly as it began, the skirmish ended. Maria watched the last figure drop with cool detachment and waited in the piercing silence that always followed shots being fired. Not even the birds dared chirp for fear of drawing attention from the killers below. It was a shame, really, Maria had been enjoying her little nature excursion. 

“Maker’s _ ass _ , Maria.” Varric must have been irritated if he wasn’t calling her Princess or beautiful or any number of his cute little nicknames. “Would it kill you to try _ not _ rushing into danger?” 

Before she could summon up an appropriate retort, a long muscled arm dangled off the dock covered in sparse black hair, flannel rolled and cuffed at the elbow. Blackwall reached for her insistently. “C’mon lass. Up you go.” 

She didn’t seriously believe the man could lift her up to the dock one handed, but she decided to humor him. Sighing, she reached up on her tiptoes, boots squelching into the silt beneath her feet. The Warden grabbed her hand securely and pulled.

Perhaps the word ‘hauled’ would be more apt. Maria found herself lifted into the air like she weighed nothing more than a sack of potatoes. She let out an undignified squeak before she found herself, shivering, sopping wet, and once more securely back on the old wooden dock staring up at the human. 

“You alright?” Blackwall asked, narrowing his eyes and sweeping them across her face up to her temples and down her jaw. 

“I just ruined my new boots, but I’ll live.” Maria stated breezily, shaking her head to try and clear it. “Why?”

Blackwall didn’t answer, he simply coughed and pointed his eyes down at Maria’s right hand. The traitorous appendage wrapped its fingers solidly around the prominent muscles that pulled her up in a way that reminded her of the covers of shitty romance novels. 

She dropped her hand immediately with a startled laugh at herself and brought it instead up to tap playfully against the human man’s shoulder instead. “Look at you! I’ve never met a Warden before, are they all so properly heroic?” 

“If you’ve never met a Warden before, why are you…” Blackwall began. 

“We are with the Inquisition.” Cassandra broke in and stepped forward, thrusting her arm out. “I am Seeker Pentaghast. This is…” 

Before Cassandra could introduce her, a cutting wind blew through the trees and right through Maria’s sopping wet coat and jeans. She shuddered and winced, immediately reaching up to unzip the jacket and shrugging it off. The top underneath, unfortunately, was just as soaked. The fabric clung to her skin and turned to ice. 

“I can make a fire.” Solas muttered, turning to the shoreline. His eagle eyes not missing her discomfort for a moment. 

“Or we can break into a cabin.” Varric offered, pointing to the few dotting the lakeshore. “If the Seeker is with us, we can’t even be arrested for it later.” 

“I’ve been staying in that one.” Blackwall jerked his thumb to the right. “We can get a blaze going and get you out of those clothes.” 

She couldn’t help herself. She never could. She cast her eyes up to the Warden with a cocky challenge. “Promise?”

She grinned as the man turned red beneath his salt and pepper beard. She heard him mutter a curse under his breath before he grabbed his own gear. Cassandra heaved a great sigh and shoved Maria around towards the shore, nearly right into Varric. The other dwarf caught her with one gloved hand on her arm and a grinning challenge to match her own. “Princess, I’m not sure Hero here would know what to do with you.” 

The underlying promise being that Varric Tethras _ certainly _ would. The thought of it was enough to make her head spin. 

Solas _ made _ the dryer work despite the fact the cabin didn’t have working electricity, and if that wasn’t a fucking sign from the Maker that locking witches up in dismal little prisons was a crime, she didn’t know what was. She’d have almost all her clothing back, mercifully dry, in an hour. As a bonus, Varric popped a couple of tiny screws on her fancy new phone with his dexterous fingers and pronounced it perfectly functional, exactly as designed, water resistant up to six feet. 

Maria was so grateful she didn’t even tease him when he lingered over the phone with a fond caress before putting it all back together as quick as she pleased. He even managed to keep his eyes rather gentlemanly on her face. Maker knew Blackwall was trying too, but either he was less a gentleman or more easily caught.

While they dried her clothes, Maria donned a shirt Blackwall generously donated. Cassandra’s borrowed shirts were both frustratingly too long and too tight around her damn chest, but she didn’t have the same issue with the dark green flannel Blackwall gave her. It was like wearing a blanket with sleeves, the novelty of the buttons actually buttoning the whole way up quickly lost by the amount of times she needed to roll the sleeves to even be able to use her hands. It stopped rather chastely an inch or two above her knees. 

She felt like a child wearing her father’s shirts again, but Blackwall couldn’t seem to look at her directly at all. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on Cassandra while she explained what exactly the Inquisition was, but his eyes flicked to her thighs like magnets any time she shifted. 

“I know who your Nightingale is looking for.” Blackwall muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with a scowl. “But I’ve not seen or heard from her in ages. The girl is in the wind, doubt her man will let her surface before this war with the witches blows over.” 

“The girl?” Maria pressed, stretching her legs out closer to the cheerfully crackling fire. Beside her, Cole stretched out his skinny fingers and watched the flickering flames cast dancing lights over them. 

“Minister Amell.” Cassandra sighed. “Leliana and she are close.” 

Maria didn’t pay much attention to anything in the news, but she knew that name. “The witch? The one who won the civil war for King Alistair Theirin?” 

Varric huffed, amused. “So the Chantry was looking for _ two _ of the most powerful witches in Thedas, the only ones with some measure of freedom, and we’re expected to believe that it wasn’t ill intentioned at all?” 

“Is she really a Warden?” Maria didn’t care for the flash of anger coming over Cassandra’s face or the smug satisfaction on Varric’s. Both boded poorly for the hike back if they kept snapping at each other. 

The rumors about Chantal Amell ran wild. Right when the blight first began to spread in Southern Ferelden, the former King was found murdered. His trusted Minister, and his father-in-law, assumed control of the country and blamed the murder on the Wardens who’d come to help the ill and dying. He said they’d been working to destabilize the region so Orlesians could profit off their plentiful natural resources in the chaos. 

Maria remembered Fynn chuckling ruefully and pointing out that it wasn’t as far-fetched as she thought it, the Dwarven Financiers were capable of that kind of despicable capitalistic machinations all on their own, if Orlais backed it…

And nobody knew _ anything _ about the Wardens. All anyone seemed to know about them was that they were the only ones who could save anyone from the Blight and without their efforts, the sickness would continue to spread unchecked. 

All anyone seemed to agree on about the Ferelden civil war was that the King’s half brother escaped Minister Loghain with the assistance of a rather clever witch named Chantal Amell, the same one who helped him form an army and destroy the man he said murdered his brother. Perhaps the witch was his lover, perhaps he’d sold his soul to a demon for her power, but he wore the crown in the end. 

And the blight ended in Ferelden. 

“Aren’t you the dwarf constantly hanging onto the Champion’s skirts?” Maria thought, for a second, he was speaking to her. Blackwall was glaring at Varric over her head though. “Serah Hawke started this war that forced her cousin into hiding. Perhaps someone should speak to her.” 

“Hawke didn’t start anything except several fashion trends and a few knitted scarves she never got around to finishing.” Varric waved his hand dismissively. 

“Cousin?” Maria broke in, dumbfounded. She was ignored. 

“Besides, I don’t know where Hawke is.” Varric stated firmly with a steely glare. He crossed his arms over his impressive chest hair as if the discussion was over. 

Cole reached out and took Maria’s hand, squeezing her fingers gently in his and tugging her towards him. She allowed herself to lean towards him just enough for Cole to press his dry lips to the shell of her ear and whisper so quietly, she barely heard it. 

“He hid the hawks, but not the crows.” 

Maria Cadash, honestly, wasn’t that surprised to learn Varric was a hell of a liar. It took one to know one, after all. She nodded to Cole and stored the information away. Cassandra Pentaghast would _ kill _him if she found out and… Varric had been kind to her when he didn’t have to be. She could count the number of people that treated her like a flesh and blood person since she woke up on one hand, she owed him for that. If Cassandra had come asking her to give up Bea, after all, Maria would have lied and lied until she turned blue. She couldn’t fault someone for the same sin she’d commit. 

“Leliana said all the Wardens are missing, except you.” Maria narrowed her eyes at Blackwall thoughtfully. “Why are you still here?”

“Maybe I was getting around to disappearing. Maybe I never got the text. Orders get lost, and I’m not… I’m not one to talk to the others much unless I’m needed.” Blackwall muttered, shook his head.

There was something there, some bit of personal drama or internal politics that Maria didn’t care to explore. She felt herself deflate a bit. So much for doing something on her own initiative to help out, she was leaving Blackwall empty handed. It felt… a bit like a failure she’d be taking back to Leliana. It was even more bitter knowing that Leliana was doing so much to keep her life back in Ostwick from imploding while she was stuck in Ferelden.

“Right.” Maria stood quickly, frustrated. “Let’s go then, if you don’t know anything this was a waste of time.” She wouldn’t be able to look at Cassandra in the face again after this misadventure anyway. She could hear the ‘I told you so’ already.

“Wait.” Blackwall protested, scratching at his beard. His eyes finally managed to meet hers despite a hint of crimson beneath his facial hair. “With this… shit. Divine’s dead. Big fuckin’ tear in the world. The Wardens should be involved in fixing it. I’ve not got much, but I can shoot. Leliana knows she can trust me. I’d come with you, Herald.” 

“Maria.” She corrected immediately, but even she could tell she was fighting a losing battle at this point in time. “I’m not… I know everyone seems to think I am but I’m just some dwarf.”

“Some dwarf trying to do the right thing.” Blackwall’s eyes flashed meaningfully. “More than I can say for some.” 

She could almost _ hear _ Varric rolling his eyes and Maria wanted to laugh. Some people, she thought, were so sure they knew what the right thing was. She didn’t know if she was worried by their certainty or envious of it. 

Fynn always knew, he’d always been so damn certain of himself. She rubbed her thumb briskly across the flannel rubbing her wrist and shot a look at Cassandra who simply shrugged and scowled. 

“We do not have room in the SUV. He will have to find his own way.” 

Blackwall laughed. “I have my own ride, Lady Seeker.” 

“Alright then.” Maria shrugged. “Come join the crazy Chantry people.” 

Both Solas and Varric barely covered their respective laughter. 

xx 

Varric Tethras had better days. He hadn’t really prepared himself to worry about Maria Cadash, hadn’t realized how much he _ would _ worry about her until he watched her plunge into the cold lake water beneath the docks. For a brief moment, his heart felt as frozen as the ground around them right before he’d heard her respond to Solas.

Then he briefly considered shoving her into the mud himself for worrying him, but his irritation quickly passed into a rather unfair amount of jealousy when he saw her clutching another man’s muscled, hairy arm. 

His own arms were more impressive after all, thank you very much. 

Then there was the blasted shirt, the oversized flannel that his vivid imagination ran away with the moment he saw her in it. His first thought had been that she looked endearingly adorable, instantly younger. 

He hadn’t really had a second thought when his eyes skimmed down the the milky pale thighs beneath the hem and his traitorous mind reminded him that, yes, her underwear were probably in the dryer too. Instead he’d been consumed with a consuming need to touch, explore, confirm that the skin there was just as soft as he thought it was. He wanted her legs over his shoulders and his mouth between her thighs and her fingers twisting into his hair. 

If Maria Cadash _ was _the Maker’s Herald, Varric was going right to the void for lusting after her body. That had to be against some kind of holy rule. This thought, combined with a rather lengthy self-lecture on priorities and how Maria had enough problems, was the only thing stopping him from contriving some sort of scenario where she’d need to bend over in that ridiculous shirt.

At least Varric exercised some sort of self-control. Their new Warden friend could barely keep his covetous eyes inside his skull. 

Maybe that’s why the last bit of the day’s events felt like the straw that broke the camel’s back. Blackwall agreed to meet them at the Crossroads station and follow them back to Haven. Maria’s virtue was finally safe because she was back in her own damn clothes, and Varric allowed himself lulled into a false sense of security by Harding’s cheerful chatter while she showcased her cut together footage she planned on showing Josephine. 

Varric felt his heart sink the moment he looked up at the rumble of an approaching motorcycle and saw Maria’s eyes light up with unrepentant joy. As soon as he saw that expression, he knew what would happen next. 

“If I ride with Blackwall, Harding can go with you now instead of waiting for Mother Giselle to be ready.” Maria wheedled, one hand on Blackwall’s bike. Solas’s lips twitched in amusement, but Varric had to admit he shared the Seeker’s same general stance on this idea. She looked abjectly disapproving. “Josie wants that footage as soon as she can get it.” 

“Great idea!” Harding grinned. “I’ll get my stuff.” 

“No.” Cassandra stated. “It is too dangerous.” 

“But…”

“No!” Cassandra snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “I will not stand by while you recklessly cavort around the countryside on a motorcycle in a war zone! You are being foolish!” 

With that, Cassandra turned on her heel and walked back into the train station, leaving the rest of their group standing by rather awkwardly. Maria hunched her shoulders forward, both rebellious and cowed. Varric watched her kick the concrete with the toe of her boot before she sighed. 

She hadn’t taken her hand off Blackwall’s motorcycle, but her fingers finally dropped away from the sleek machine and she looked up, both apologetic and defeated. “Sorry.” She muttered to Blackwall. “I’d take off with you myself, but I’m not sure how to get back to Haven from here.” 

“It’s alright.” Blackwall said gruffly. “I’ll take you out at Haven, if you like.” 

“I’ve always wanted to ride on one.” Maria’s voice held notes of wistful longing and… damnit.

Varric didn’t like the idea of her going out on that bike with a stranger, no matter how much Nightingale trusted him. Varric liked that injured, hopeless look on her face even less. He thought it looked like Maria Cadash was in the middle of internally scolding herself for even asking for something. 

“Free. Wind whips her hair back, rips everything but herself away. Breathless and finally able to breathe.” Cole muttered from where he sat cross legged on the ground, so quiet Varric doubted anyone could hear him. 

Damnit, he was a sucker.

“Bianca.” His earpiece chirped to life in his ear and Maria looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Can you send the route we used to get here to Maria Cadash’s phone?”

“Should I check it for potential hazards?” Bianca asked smoothly. Varric chuckled under his breath.

“Yeah, I doubt she’s looking to get murdered by anyone except Cassandra for this stunt.” Varric grumbled. Solas’s lips broke into the first true smile he’d seen on the elf. Maria froze, eyes wide. Varric pinned her with what he hoped was an appropriately serious expression. “You die out there without us, I don’t want to hear about it.” 

Maria’s own lips turned up into a smile both tentative and on the edge of radiant. “Really?” 

“Really.” Varric half-groaned. Bianca chirped in his ear. 

“Message sent.” She confirmed. Varric heard Maria’s own phone beep from within her jacket pocket and he jerked his chin. 

“Better get going before the Seeker gets back. Have a nice, cold ride through the war torn countryside you nug brained…” 

Before he could finish, Maria Cadash flung her arms around his neck and pressed a fiery kiss against his cheek with a lighthearted smile. “Thank you.” She breathed, breath warm on his stubble. 

“Don’t say I never did anything to aid in your race to self-destruction.” He mumbled while she tore herself away from him and beamed up at Blackwall. The man slung his own too long legs over the bike before grabbing her and helping her clamber on. She tucked her arms around his waist, but it was Varric she winked at before Blackwall’s motorcycle roared to life.

He’d never forget the picture she made, red hair shining in the late afternoon sun, worn leather jacket barely thick enough to fight the cold, and her grin both reckless and sure. Then, the wheels spun and just like that, she was gone. 

“If I thought that was completely altruistic, Mister Tethras, I’d thank you profusely.” Solas muttered.

“Of course it was altruistic!” Varric protested. “I’m offended by the connotation.” 

“Happy.” Cole beamed up from where he sat, hat barely obscuring his gleaming eyes. “You made her happy.” 

Varric didn’t have a damn motorcycle, but he had Maker-given brains and the wherewithal to use them.

“Take that, Hero.” He muttered smugly to himself. 

_ H: Zev wasn’t gonna let Chantal get caught up in this mess. Especially risk people connecting her with Anders? _   
_ V: She always warned us about that damn cat. _   
_ H: weird that she’s not answering Leliana though. they’re bffs from what I’ve heard. _   
_ H: you know what, she was looking into the red lyrium for me before shit hit the fan. I’ll see if I can’t get a hold of her. _   
_ H: one fugitive to another and whatnot _   
H: Bethy says hi. I asked Fen if he wanted to say hello, he grunted. take it as you will.   
_ V: Tell him I said right back at him in the most friendly terms. Then tell Sunshine I miss her and I’ll have tons of stories saved up for her and only her.   
_H: stop flirting with my sister or I’ll light your chest hair on fire

Varric couldn’t hide his smirk while he backpedaled out of the secure messaging app. He chanced a glance at the back of the Seeker’s neck, still a rather impressive shade of crimson since she’d come out and discovered Maria Cadash missing. They’d been driving for two hours, but the Seeker seemed intent on maintaining her fury until she found the missing dwarf. 

Luckily, Solas, Cole, and Harding all came to an unspoken agreement not to rat Varric out for his assist. Or, at the very least, to blackmail him with it later. 

His phone chimed and Varric looked down, half-expecting to see the secure messaging app flashing with more playful threats from Hawke. Instead, Bianca Davri’s name flashed across the screen. Varric opened the message. 

_ Bianca: The AI says your request for Cadash’s trial records got denied? _

Varric frowned before he tapped out his reply.

_ Varric: Yeah, Hercinia said they’re rejecting all requests. _ _   
_ _ Bianca: Try any other channels yet? _

Varric’s’ frown deepened. 

_ Varric: Wasn’t planning on it. _   
_ Bianca: Seriously? The unendingly curious doesn’t want the whole story? Who are you and what did you do to Varric? _ _   
_Varric: She’s got enough problems without people prying into her past.

Varric remembered Maria’s quiet admission that she knew what her boss was capable of. She ran his protection racket, she smuggled his lyrium, but she didn’t hurt people. That’s what she said and Varric believed her. Whatever she’d done in Ostwick, whatever happened in Hercinia… well, the world was ending and they were all probably going to die trying to fix it. That seemed more important. Varric watched the dots that signified Bianca was typing. They appeared, then vanished. Appeared again, vanished again. Then one last time before the message came through. 

_ Bianca: She is pretty for Carta, isn’t she? I wondered if she was into drugs, but she doesn’t have the look of someone feeding a habit. _   
_ Varric: Isn’t that a bit beneath you? _   
_ Bianca: Honestly, Varric. I don’t have a claim on you, do whatever you want. _ _   
_Bianca: But you’ve always been a sucker for a pretty face and you know it. 

It was no use. Bianca always had to get the damn last word. Varric pressed his knuckles to his forehead and dug them into his skin. 

“Eyes.” 

The word fell out of Cole’s mouth and Harding tipped her head in his direction inquisitively. “The eyes have it? Eyes and ears? Don’t leave us hanging.” 

“Her eyes. Sparkling like the ocean in Rivain on the day she didn’t come. Blue like the stones in the necklace he gave her, the one you couldn’t afford.” 

Varric didn’t slump down in his seat, but it was a close thing. He looked out the window instead. “Yeah kid, that’s her.” 

Cole paused, thoughtful, examining his long fingers before looking up again. “It’s the eyes for you. It always has been. She knows. She sees the storm in gray eyes, knows you like the rain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Bianca Davri up to something?  
Almost certainly.


	13. The First Missed Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana offers Maria a way out of the Carta when Dwyka makes threats again Bea. Maria calls her lawyer.  
Varric gets his advance copies of "Tale of the Champion", but doesn't have anyone to celebrate with until Cole intervenes.

Maria had never been on house arrest, but she imagined it felt kinda like the crackdown Cassandra imposed after the stunt with Blackwall and the motorcycle. She supposed it beat being in actual jail because she had her phone and the food was better. Still, she'd face the Seeker's fury a thousand times for that long, winding ride back to Haven with no sound but the roar in her ears. When she closed her eyes she could feel the wind whipping her hair from her braid, slicing through her coat, freezing her cheeks. She fantasized during that ride about telling Blackwall to keep going, talking him into dropping her at Amaranthine. She could make her way to Antiva or Rivain and vanish into another life, be someone else. Someone who ran a used bookstore or tended bar, lived in a clean, neat apartment and attended classes in the evening the way she always planned to. The tantalizing freedom felt so close on that bike she almost believed it could happen. 

She held onto that feeling while Haven set out to smother her. The Seeker decreed she wasn't allowed out of the gates without a guard, then amended that rule to state Solas, Cole, Blackwall, and Varric didn't count when Maria tried to take a walk with Cole. The whole town full of religious fanatics worried so much about her safety it'd been easy for the Seeker to convince them to play along. 

Then there was an avalanche of clothes in her room waiting to envelope her. Josephine's shopping spree bordered on the outrageous. Outfits spilled out of the closet and two armoires that appeared in her room while she'd been at the Crossroads. Most of the garments made Maria roll her eyes because she couldn't imagine a world where she'd wear them. A veritable mountain of silk and lace skirts, dresses, blouses, and tailored pants all got shoved back into the armoires from whence they came.

But some of the purchases did set her heart aflutter despite herself. A couple flannel shirts tailored to fit her that, miraculously, buttoned the whole way up if she wanted them to. There were silk camisoles that she layered underneath them, a warm black wool hat of her own, jeans and leggings that curved to her form effortlessly, shirts of soft cotton, the best damn sports bras she'd ever owned, and…

Her coat. She fucking loved that coat Josephine found. It was lined with thick warm wool, the outside leather, with a hood that framed her face in fur softer than anything she’d ever felt. It fit snug around her frame and made her look like a damn model _ while _ keeping her warm. She instantly forgave Josephine everything, even the footage released that showed her heroically closing the crack outside the Crossroads. 

Thankfully, they cut out her rather undignified fainting onto Varric. 

Cullen even had new recruits clamoring to see her, meet her, and she felt honor bound to oblige. If they'd signed up because of her, the least she could do was greet them personally. She tried to remember their names, had to resort to faking it sometimes. 

But, if she was being honest with herself, all of that wasn't why she felt suffocated. She had no one but herself to blame, really. She told herself that none of this was real, that her life was no fairy tale, that the magic that tore the universe in two couldn't succeed in tearing her out of the Carta anymore than Fynn could after his death. Still, she'd gotten used to freedom in the week she'd been there, even if she knew it couldn't last. 

Maria knew it was about to come crashing down as soon as she walked into Leliana's room and saw the only person present was the spymaster herself.

"I got your text." Maria held up her phone as if she needed it to explain why she'd come. Leliana was tapping away at a tablet screen, frowning severely. Her eyes flicked up and she nodded, waving Maria in. 

"One moment. The mayor of Cumberland has impounded medicine Josephine ordered as a political stunt." 

"You only need a moment to take care of that?" Maria joked weakly, clearing a spot on one of the desks and hoisting herself up. She took a look at one of the stacks of papers she moved, all marked ‘confidential’. 

"I am threatening to destroy his marriage if he does not pull his head from his ass." Leliana glared at her screen. "If this fails, I am going to suggest sending Cullen deliver a more violent solution."

Maria giggled in spite of herself. "Maker. Remind me not to make you mad."

Leliana looked up with a small smile. "I do not suspect you will. People are speaking about you everywhere. Josie will have a meeting arranged in Val Royeaux by the end of the day with the remaining clerics. You did more during your time at the Crossroads than we could have hoped."

"Sorry we couldn't find you friend." Maria shrugged awkwardly, refusing to meet those pale blue eyes. Leliana sighed and returned her gaze to her tablet. 

"I thank you for trying. The Wardens are dear to my heart, particularly Chantal. It worries me to think… but we will get to the bottom of it. Blackwall is trying to track down some of his brothers in arms and I know well where Chantal may go." Leliana nodded to herself. "We will locate her."

With that, Leliana sat her tablet down and leaned heavily on the table with one arm. She used the other one to push her black hood back and reveal her red hair. "You have spoken frequently to your sister, but I'm afraid she hasn't been honest with you about her circumstances." 

Maria felt like she swallowed a block of ice, but Leliana didn't look upset. She looked like a woman intent on handling a problem one way or another. "Bea has a habit of not exactly being truthful with me. Usually about who she's sleeping with, but…" 

"Dwyka is threatening her. He's upset that you have made no indication about returning, that he has not heard from you since. He is demanding that Bea put him in contact with you. She refuses to do so." 

Maria fought the urge to bury her head in her hands. "Damnit, Bea…" She muttered instead, staring down at the floor. 

"I was content to allow her to manage things as she saw fit. I will say your sister is made of the same steel you are, Maria. She has told him repeatedly, and rather creatively, to fuck off. He threatened to break every bone in her body, she told him to go ahead, she'd enjoy watching you put a bullet in his forehead."

Bea never knew when to shut up. "Sounds like her. Please tell me she's fine." 

"She is." Leliana confirmed and Maria felt the knot in her chest loosen. "A woman she works with is in the hospital with several broken bones after the Carta caught her leaving the apartment Bea and you share. Dwyka's way of letting her know he's serious I suppose. Elf girl named…" 

"Iris." Maria guessed, rubbing her forehead. Leliana nodded sympathetically. 

"Your sister hasn't been able to go to work herself since the media caught your name. Iris brought takeout and beer, spent several hours there, then left shortly after three in the morning." 

Maria knew Iris, a slender elven girl with big brown eyes and a sweet smile. She also knew Bea and Iris were more like friends-with-benefits than just friends. Bea must have been furious. 

Furious and frightened. 

"Is she going to be alright?" Maria needed to ask that first, needed to figure out if the poor girl's blood was on her hands. 

"She'll be back to dancing in a few months. I have people watching both her and your sister. Discreetly." Leliana cleared a spot on the table next to Maria and hoisted herself up neatly. "I need to know what you would like to do." 

"He wins. I'll call him." Maria closed her eyes. She reminded herself not to feel so devastated. She knew. She fucking knew she’d never get away. 

"That is an option." Leliana's voice was carefully neutral. "There are others. There is enough evidence to have him thrown in jail for something, I'm sure, if it makes it through the proper channels. That would keep him out of our hair, no? We can also move your sister somewhere safe, I have friends in Denerim and Orlais who would shelter her."

Both things she'd thought of herself more than once. Running and hiding or sending Dwyka's ass to jail, but neither of those would protect them, not from…

"We could also send an assassin." Leliana offered carefully, watching her face.

Maria wheeled to face Leliana head on, her wide eyes reflected in Leliana's grave gaze. "What?" She asked, bewildered, unsure she could have heard…

"An assassin." Leliana repeated. "I suspect whatever ties you to him cannot be solved by the first two methods. You are both intelligent and resourceful enough to do the first two on your own and leave him ages ago. That you didn't… well, information is powerful. Secrets are dangerous."

Leliana smiled wryly and gestured at the empty room with all her monitors. "I know this better than any other."

The words felt like ice when she spoke, but she had to ask. "Could you? Have him killed and have it not traced back to me? To my sister?"

"If it is what you wish, I can research ways to make it happen." Leliana could have been talking about food supplies and the odd normality of the conversation was the only thing keeping Maria from screaming. "I will need some time. It would need to be done carefully, but I would not flinch to remove someone such as he from this world." 

"You can't do it. Not it you're not sure… Bea…" Maria remembered prison, the cold walls, the unending days. She remembered longing to be free, to be home, felt like a caged animal waiting to be prodded. Bea would do even worse, Bea was _ made _ for freedom, she'd wilt like a hothouse orchid in a cell. 

"I will only do so if it can be done safely and if it is what you desire." Leliana promised. What Maria _ desired _for was to kill him herself, to payback all the degradation, the pain, the scars on her soul with his blood. 

But if she could be free, if they both could be free… she'd take it however she could have it. Maria nodded quietly and Leliana placed one gentle hand on her thigh. Maria looked down to see she clutched a simple black phone in her hand. When she withdrew her palm, she left the device. "I did not want Dwyka to have your true phone number. I had an agent slip him this one. Of course, the first thing he did was send a virus through a link, one to install spyware on it."

"Always thought he was reading my messages somehow." The words tasted like ashes, but Leliana simply looked amused. 

"Amateurish." She decreed. "I allowed it and popped a program of my own in to bamboozle it. He'll receive a flurry of records, messages, phone calls. All innocuous, none of them real. You do not need to do anything except…" 

The phone vibrated on Maria's thigh and she tensed in spite of herself. There were already three message notifications flashing on the screen. "Answer it." Maria responded dully. 

"For now." Leliana's tone was a promise. "Dwyka has been informed if he steps foot on this side of the waking sea, all payments from the Inquisition will stop. I do not believe he is stupid enough to do so, but he needs to feel you are still within his control. Can you make him believe that?"

Maria still felt like she was under his damn thumb, so it wouldn't be hard. She nodded. 

"I've told Varric, Cassandra, Solas, and Blackwall that this is a special secure line between you and I. Nobody has questioned it, they will not snoop through it." Leliana promised. "Have I forgotten any contingencies?"

One, but Maria would handle it herself. Still, Leliana seemed to know everything… "Bea should probably leave Ostwick."

"I agree." Leliana frowned. "Although she doesn't seem amenable. I have already put out feelers. She is stubborn."

"My lawyer from Ostwick." Maria began quietly. "I'll call him, he can convince her to leave." 

"Good." Leliana nodded. "There is one other thing. A gift if you will."

The redhead slipped from the table and dashed to another, grasping a small case and tossing it into the air. Maria caught it with one hand and examined the smooth leather before she flicked it open, caught sight of the pair of glasses within.

"Did Varric request these for me?" She asked, amused in spite of herself. Leliana smiled wickedly in response. 

"No, but I suspect he will enjoy them." Leliana pulled out her phone. "Put them on." 

She did so, blinking owlishly behind the lenses as she settled them on her nose. She waited for something to happen, the same way the lenses of Varric's glasses turned the whole world into a supernatural light show. "Do I need to turn them on?"

"No." Leliana pressed a button on her phone, then turned it so the screen was facing her. Leliana must have switched the thing into camera mode, because it looked like it was trying to take a selfie, but the girl in the frame…

The girl in the frame had dusky skin and dark eyes accented by the thick dark frames of the glasses she wore. Her hair was a fall of black silk, as different from Maria's as it could be, but when Maria reached up to touch, the girl in the camera mimicked the movement with her own hand wearing Maria's new coat. 

"Holy shit."

Leliana giggled at Maria's response. "I am sick of Cullen trying to stuff a hat on your head. The horror of hiding such pretty hair… This is much more effective, no? A simple glamour spell, one of my spies stated it will last for years as long as you do not break the glasses."

On closer inspection, Maria could find her features in the camera image. Her freckles over her nose, her cheekbones and her plump lips. Really, the coloring was all that had changed, but it was enough. Without her distinctive hair or eyes, people’s eyes would float right over her in a crowd. 

She loved them instantly, loved that elusive feeling of freedom back in her hands. Leliana took her phone back and Maria stared down at her darker skinned hands with a laugh. 

Then the phone, the awful black one, buzzed again and she sighed. She didn't bother to take the glasses off, not yet, but she couldn't avoid Dwyka forever. She turned the screen on and took a look at the texts. 

_ Dwyka: u were right about ferelden _   
_ Dwyka: i’m sorry the shit isnt worth it just come home baby _   
_ Dwyka: that bitch said u agreed to stay i need to hear it from u _   
_ Dwyka: u belong here with me and u know it _   
_Maria: You put Bea’s girlfriend in the hospital to get my attention. Getting paid isn’t enough? _  
_ Dwyka: i need to know what ur doing _ _   
Dwyka: and u know ur whore sister deserves worse_

Maria didn’t bother responding right away. Instead, she pulled _ her _phone out of her pocket, the one Dwyka couldn’t have, not this time. She had to google the number, but it didn’t take her more than a second to find the right one. She clicked to call and placed the phone up to her ear, ignoring the buzzing of the other phone in her hand. Someone answered the line in a bored, yet foreboding, monotone. “Hissrad and Aclassi Partners in Law. What do you want?” 

“Skinner?” She’d never been so happy to hear the aggravated elf before.

“Yeah, what of it?” 

“It’s Maria.” She swallowed the tide of emotion, the comforting familiarity more welcome than she wanted to admit. “Maria Cadash.” 

“Not dead yet?” Skinner muttered. “I can’t believe it. Guess I owe Dalish that fifty sovereigns after all.” 

Maria laughed. “Sorry?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Skinner grumbled. “One minute. Supposed to get the Chief the minute your dwarven ass called in. Gotta go pull him out of a meeting with some Shems. Most fun I’ll have all day.” 

xx 

Varric didn’t expect to feel so forlorn to be holding the first advance copies of his newest book. Usually, when the box arrived, Varric was elated. The arrival of the box meant his editor was off his back and Varric was free as a bird. He’d take the box down to the Hanged Man on the bottom floor of his building, his favorite shitty bar that served his favorite shitty beer, order a couple pitchers of said shitty beer, send his friends a text, and wait. 

Isabela usually showed up first, mainly because she was rarely away from the Hanged Man’s bar. If she was, she was just upstairs in her room two floors below his entertaining her never-ending stream of company, she just needed to put on pants. Or, as was often the case, come down pantsless. Then it was always a toss-up between Merrill and Anders rolling in next, depending on how lost Daisy got and how busy Blondie’s clinic was. They’d all trickle in after that, one at a time or in pairs. 

Finally, Hawke would show up dragging any stragglers, usually Aveline or Fenris, sometimes both. She’d strongarm them into the chairs over their protests that they had more important things to do. 

“Fasta vass, woman.” Fenris would grumble while one side of his lips tipped up helplessly. Varric always suspected Fenris, at least, enjoyed Hawke hunting him down and dragging him along no matter how much the elf protested.

Then Varric magnanimously passed around the copies. Merril would chirp about the pretty cover art and the feel of the pages. Isabela would dive straight in looking for the dirty bits to read aloud while Sebastian and Bethany blushed. Hawke would pick a random spot and start doing dramatic readings in silly voices until Aveline threatened to throw her outside and Fenris needed to hide his laughter in his wine glass. 

Now, Varric had a box full of books and nobody to call. It seemed even more heart wrenching because it was _ their _ book, the one full of _ their _ stories. He sat in Haven’s lone shitty bar with his box and one copy of the book flipped open to the photo insert. In the middle, a large picture of all of them leaning against the Hanged Man’s bar right after Hard in Hightown made the bestseller list. Aveline and Isabela both hoisting Varric off the ground, Hawke doubled over laughing, Merrill fluttering anxiously at her elbow. Another photo off to the side of Isabela and Hawke knee-deep in the surf off the Wounded Coast, Isabela’s bikini leaving remarkably little to the imagination, Hawke holding a frisbee in one hand. The last photo showed the outside of the Amell estate with Bethany leaning against the gate talking to Sebastian. 

Varric flipped the page, came to one of the rare photos of Hawke and Fenris together, just the two of them, unguarded and in serious conversation at one of Daisy’s dinner parties showcasing her terrifying cuisine. Fenris tipped his head downwards and Hawke leaned toward him, as if they’d kiss over one of Merrill’s culinary disasters. Varric knew they didn’t, not that night, but it had been the night he realized it was only a matter of time. They had their own gravity, those two, and they were both caught up in it. 

Ancestors, he missed them. He missed all of them. 

“Hey, Cole said you needed me?” 

He’d been so maudlin, he hadn’t even noticed the whole bar hush when she walked in. Varric looked up into her soft gray eyes, a small smile twisting her lips up just on one side. Her hair shone even in the dingy neon lights, but she looked washed out, exhausted. There was a heaviness at the corners of her eyes that weighed her down. 

“Cole said I needed you?” Varric repeated. He hadn’t told the kid to get Maria, had he? 

“Yeah?” Maria’s smile broadened, brought some color back to her face. “Did he hear something he wasn’t supposed to again?” 

His laugh surprised him and he grinned up into her bright face. Yes, _ this _ was exactly what he needed. Someone to keep him company, take his mind off the ghosts of the past. He gestured to the chair opposite his and pulled his box closer to his side while laying his arm over the book spread in front of him. She eyed both curiously but sat down without complaint.

“I wasn’t _ ready _ for you yet.” Varric sighed theatrically. “I wanted to do something special, y’know. For my number one fan.” 

“You have a number one fan?” 

Her eyes sparkled and yes, that heaviness seemed to be slowly dropping from her face. He tsked and glared at her pointedly. “You’re a cruel woman, Princess.” 

“You know, Cassandra seems rather fond of you.” Maria put her elbows on the table, rested her chin in her hands. “Maybe she’s your number one fan?” 

“She already got her hands on a copy of this.” Varric growled in exasperation. “Subpoenaed by editor for an advance manuscript. Then she stabbed it.” 

Varric paused thoughtfully. “Believe it or not, still not the worst review I’ve ever received.” 

Maria’s laughter echoed in the bar and caused the assorted other patrons to smile amongst themselves. Behind her back, he saw people settle into their chairs, return to their beers, a silent unspoken agreement to give their Herald a moment’s peace, to let her pretend she was like everyone else kicking around Haven. 

Whether she knew it or not, she wormed her way into these people’s hearts. It was difficult not to notice Maria trying so hard to learn the names of the people stuck here with them, going out of her way to offer what she could of herself. 

And they were falling in love with her for it. Every single one of the Inquisition followers, every single refugee. 

Maria leaned forward as he thought, trying to peer into the box. “You wrote another book? Is it the sequel to Hard in Hightown?” 

“No, this one is actually nearer and dearer to my heart.” With a flourish, he shut the book in front of him and spun the crimson cover to face Maria. Emblazoned in black was a hawk spinning up to the sky, wings spread, the title spelled out underneath it. Varric watched Maria read it, waited until her eyes flicked up to his. 

“Is it about her? Hawke?” Maria asked. Her fingers twitched toward it as if she could barely help herself and Varric shoved the book towards her with a grin.

“Yeah, it’s mostly about Hawke.” Varric admitted. “Biography isn’t usually my genre, but it can’t be worse than my foray into romance.” 

Maria opened the book, let her fingers trace over the table of contents with a curious sort of wonder. “Top of the bestseller list yet?” Maria teased. 

“Not yet, but it doesn’t technically go on sale until next week. These are gifts for my fans, but if you’re not _ actually _ a fan…” 

Varric reached out as if to pull the book away from her but she tugged it closer quickly, smirking “I didn’t say I wasn’t _ a _ fan.” She protested. “Besides, think of the marketing potential. My face is on every damn newschannel anyway, what happens if they see me with your book? This could be the first step of my career as a what’s-it-called.” 

Varric groaned. “Social media influencer.”

“Exactly!” 

“For the love of Andraste, I’d rather you go back to organized crime when this is all done.”

If he wasn’t getting so damn good at reading her facial expressions, he’d have missed it. Instead, for just a second, he caught a hint of blazing defiance. Then, quickly as it appeared, it was smothered underneath a wicked grin. 

“You wrote a book.” She muttered, leaning back and looking down at it again with a smile that bordered on proud. “I feel like we should throw you a release party.” 

He wanted to ask about that blazing expression, about the heaviness she’d walked in with, but he couldn’t bring himself to break the light, teasing mood. Not when he craved this easy camaraderie like he craved air to breathe. Not when he wanted more of that sly grin pointed in his direction like it was meant for him alone. “Always hated release parties, honestly.” 

“I should at least buy you a beer.” She looked up, sheepish. “But I’m actually not getting paid for this whole Herald business.” 

“Princess, you’ve got no idea how many times my own damn parties end up on my tab.” He chuckled and stood from the table. “What do you drink?” 

“Whatever’s cheapest, honestly.” She shrugged carelessly. “If they’ve got a deck of cards, see if we can borrow them too. We’ll see how long I can hide in here before Cassandra comes looking.” 

It sounded like the best idea anyone had come up with in ages. Maria tipped her chin up and let her lips curl playfully around her teeth. “Hell, since it’s your book we’re celebrating I may even let you win.” 

She let him win once, then proceeded to crush him. If they’d been playing for money, she’d own his share of Rogue Tech. Still, he couldn’t begrudge her victories when they brought such a pretty flush to her skin. He hadn’t taken her snide remark about illegal gambling seriously, but he should have. Varric would not make the same mistake again. 

They weren’t drunk, but just tipsy enough to make the walk from the bar back to the house amusing despite the bitter cold. She had the hood of her new coat pulled up, the fur a halo around her laughing face. 

“I head out to the farmer’s market, thinking that I have to see this shit for myself. Sure enough, damn Daisy stands there in the center of chaos, red marker in hand, Aveline practically spitting fire up above her. Daisy sees me, beams that big smile of hers and says…” 

“Oh no!” Maria muffled her giggles with her hand. “She didn’t!”

“Daisy says ‘Varric! Humans get so upset when you draw on their things, but I thought it was a fine idea. Until all the shouting.’ So I said Daisy, listen sweetheart, I didn’t mean _ seriously _ draw arrows all over the damn market, but…” 

“Did Aveline make you clean it up?” 

“On hands and knees! She’s a slave driver, that woman. Also terrifying, like a battering ram with tits.”

Maria doubled over she was laughing so hard, tears glimmering like crystals at the corner of her eyes. “Stop!” She protested weakly. “I can’t take anymore.” 

Varric reached for her with the hand that wasn’t carrying his box of books under his arm and tugged her until she stood upright again, wiping tears from her eyes, breathless with the echoes of her laughter. They were scant inches apart, her other hand curling into his shoulder, his arm loosely wrapped around her waist. She smelled like beer, that ever present faint hint of cinnamon, a bit of gunsmoke. He tipped his head down and she leaned in just a bit, her smile beguiling. The street lamp above them illuminated a circle around their forms. It also caught the sparkling flurries of snow in the air around them, glitter falling lazily to the ground. 

Gravity. It was like they had their own gravity, Varric thought, a flash of inspiration while he counted the freckles dusting her nose. 

“Miss Cadash!” 

She didn’t step away, but she tipped her head to the side to see over his shoulder. “Josephine?” She called cheerfully. 

“You’ve been invited!” Josephine was beside them in a flurry of her ruffled peacoat. She was still carrying her tablet in her elegant, leather gloved hands. “The clerics have invited you to Val Royeaux! They wish to hear what you have to say!” 

“What?” Maria asked, confused. “Why do I…?” 

“Come!” Josephine snatched Maria out of his grip and whirled her away. “There is much to do! Arrangements to be made!”   
Maria looked over her shoulder helplessly as Ruffles marched her away and Varric chuckled, but the sound hid the way his entire world had tilted precariously sideways in that one moment. Because if Josephine hadn’t yelled, if Maria’s attention hadn’t drifted from him…

Maker take him, Varric was going to kiss the damn woman. Maybe not tonight, but it was going to happen, and he didn’t see a force in Thedas capable of stopping it.

“She needed you.” 

Varric nearly shit himself at the sound of Cole’s voice. The kid melted out of the shadows near the house, eyes on Maria’s retreating form. “And you needed her. It should be easy, but it’s not. I don’t understand why.” 

Varric could give the kid a hundred reasons, but if he was honest with himself, he didn’t really want to. He wanted it to be easy too. As easy as falling, as easy as gravity.


	14. The Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric is bored on a train.  
Maria makes a promise to Thedas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am *so* sorry. I didn't abandon this or any of my other works. I actually got ridiculously ill and ended up with pneumonia and some complications. I'm back up and about, but ridiculously behind on everything in both work and personal life. I will try to update lots, but I need to get some other projects done too. Sorry!

Getting the invitation to Val Royeaux was the damn easy part. There was an airport in Redcliffe, but the gates to the city were firmly barred to the upstart Inquisition. That left two options, neither good, to get their Herald to Val Royeaux. A long train ride over Southern Orlais, unhelpfully wracked by civil war, or hitching a ride on a freighter going to Nevarra then taking a train through Northern Orlais, risking running into the various criminal gangs using that route to smuggle both people, drugs, and lyrium. 

One of those gangs was the Ostwick Carta. There was a chance Maria's connection could grease the wheels and get them moving. There was also a pretty substantial chance either a rival gang or her own former colleagues would take the shot in revenge for any number of imagined slights. 

Which is how he found himself sandwiched on a high speed train flying through the Frostback mountains after leaving from Jader on the less criminal southern route. Maria sat beside the window, countryside flying past her, thick black glasses perched on her nose. He had his own silver frames on his face and trusted both they and a fedora pulled down low would do enough to disguise his identity. In the seats in front of them, Solas and Cole whispered quietly. 

"Their father didn't teach them to talk." Cole muttered. "They shouldn't fight. The brothers should share their hurt."

"Often a problem with fathers." Solas sighed. 

Behind him, Varric heard Blackwall groan while he stretched, the boots kicking the back of Varric's seat. "Could you be a little more gentle the next time we spar, Cassandra?" 

"Why?" Cassandra asked. "You can take it."

"Yes, but I'd rather not." 

The Seeker actually laughed before she taunted Blackwall. "I did not realize you were made of glass." 

"Bruised glass, thank you."

Varric huffed and looked to his left. "Hey Harding…"

"Busy." The other dwarf waved her hand to shoo him. 

"I was just wondering…"

"Nope." Harding reached for a pair of headphones and Varric collapsed back in his seat, defeated. He turned a wounded glare on Maria, who didn't quite hide the twitch of her smile quickly enough. She had his book open and she was on Chapter three, he thought. A part of him wanted to let her read, really. She hardly got any time to herself.

The rest of him was pretty damn bored. "Thoughts so far, Princess?"

"Off to a slow start." Despite the glasses changing her looks just enough to hide her in the crowd, it did nothing to mask her facial expressions. The amusement flickered over her features plainly. “The author’s a bit verbose.” 

“Everyone’s a critic.” Varric huffed, craning his neck to see which page Maria found herself on. “Did you get to the part where…” 

“Don’t spoil it!” Maria protested, laughing. The laughter died on her lips as her phone buzzed inside her pocket. She held her place with one finger and dug into her coat, pulling out the black phone she’d been ‘gifted’ days before by the spymaster. 

She always looked fucking miserable whenever that thing went off. “Geesh, Nightingale won’t let you alone for a minute. Tell her you’re on vacation.” 

“No rest for the wicked.” Maria unlocked the phone’s screen with one hand and read whatever flashed across the screen. It made her frown severely, the amusement fading from her face like the sun going behind the clouds. She tapped out a response and slipped the phone back into her pocket before she slumped into her seat and looked out at the countryside rushing past. Varric wanted to take that damn black phone out of her pocket and chuck it out the window. She sighed and looked back down at the book, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. Then she frowned and looked back over at him.

“Do you have anything I can use as a bookmark?” 

“Can’t dogear it?” Varric suggested. Immediately her lips popped open in stunned disbelief. 

“I didn’t know you were a damn  _ monster _ .” Maria complained. “Dog-earring a book? What kind of sick…” 

He watched her shoot both demons and people, but the expression she wore reminded him  _ exactly  _ of his old school librarian, both scandalized and amused. He flashed her his best roguish grin and reached into his stylish leather briefcase, grabbing his journal. He intended on ripping out a piece of paper, but the second he opened it a card fell into his lap. 

_ The  _ card. 

Varric picked it up and glared at the entwined figures of The Lovers before tossing it at Maria Cadash. It landed harmlessly in her lap and she picked it up warily. “Why do you keep trying to pawn your cursed tarot card off on me?” 

“It’s  _ not _ cursed.” Cole protested quietly in front of them. Solas hushed him. 

“It would serve Hawke if I lost it somehow.” Varric grumbled quietly. “This is why making friends with witches is a dangerous occupation. It’s all fun and games until you’re being stalked by a damn card.”    
“She cursed it to follow you around?” Maria raised an eyebrow. “To do what? Irritate you?” 

Probably. Varric wouldn’t put it past her. Still, he watched cautiously as Maria placed the card between the pages and closed the book. She then, endearingly, held the book up and looked at the card stuck between the covers closely. “It’s not going to be a sensible choice as a bookmark if it walks off and I lose my place.” 

“The dog-earring suggestion still stands.” 

She didn’t bother with the retort, instead she slapped the book against his thigh with more sound than actual force. Varric scowled playfully in return and tugged the book out of her hand. “No acts of violence until we get to Val Royeaux, Princess. You promised Ruffles.” 

Now he had her full attention  _ and _ he was feeling much less bored. She allowed him to take the book and propped her chin in her hand while watching him carefully. “So, I thought tarot cards were the shtick of cheap Rivaini fortune tellers.” 

“I thought so too. Chantry frowns on fortune telling, but Hawke had a gift.” Varric shrugged. “She’s not wrong very often.” 

“She didn’t see any of it coming though?” Maria frowned. “The red lyrium, the war, the chantry…” 

“She saw all of it.” Varric remembered Hawke glaring at her cards for weeks before the chantry blew up, pacing back and forth while Bethany tried to soothe her and Fenris bitched about damn magic being a constant menace in his life. “Nothing specific, that’s the rub. She always sees the impending disaster, but never with enough clarity to figure it out.”

All she did, all she ever did, was make herself sick with worry. Varric remembered the night she turned over a card with a skull on it. Remembered the way she wailed holding Leandra’s dead body that it was  _ her _ fault, as if Hawke had invited death into their home. And yet, Hawke always looked. She couldn’t help looking. 

“That sounds like the real curse.” Maria sunk into her seat further. “To know and be helpless anyway? What a shitty gift. She should send it back.” 

“She’d probably agree.”

“So…” Maria trailed off and tilted her head to the side. “What a provocative card to force into following you. I thought Hawke was with that elf, the one who always looks like he’s two seconds away from shooting someone.” 

“You’re definitely asking for spoilers now, Princess.” Varric grinned. “Hawke’s love life is detailed in chapters six, twelve, eighteen, twenty-three, and…” 

“It is not chapter twelve, it is chapter fourteen.” Cassandra corrected adamantly. Both dwarves turned to stare at her through the crack in the seat. Cassandra couldn’t shut her mouth fast enough, the click of her jaw was audible. 

“Seeker, you only read the rough draft.” Varric scolded. “The full finished product is a hundred times better.” 

“How many times  _ did  _ you read it before stabbing it?” Maria teased, bright eyed. Cassandra rolled her eyes, but Maker, Varric thought the woman was  _ blushing _ . 

“Were there many changes between the draft I read and the final product?” Cassandra tried to act nonchalant. Varric wasn’t buying it, he narrowed his eyes. 

“You liked it!” He accused with a low whistle. 

“I told you she was your biggest fan.” Maria whispered low. “You should sign a copy and give it to her.” 

“If she asks nicely.” Varric muttered. 

“I am not…” Cassandra protested. 

“One by one they follow me, laughing, drowning, into the sea.” Cole muttered loud enough that the person next to Harding eyed him nervously. “The rest of the poem is sad.” 

“But the start was so cheery.” Blackwall half-sighed. All of them shut up at the quiet soft exclamation that fell from Maria’s mouth when she turned towards Cole. Her eyes had landed instead on the window, the countryside replaced by an endless expanses of sea stretching to their east. This, Varric knew, was the narrowest part of the Waking Sea, the only part with a bridge spanning side to side. 

“Somewhere across all that water is Kirkwall.” Varric murmured, leaning over Maria’s form to peer at the sunlight glinting off the ocean. And somewhere, in the Free Marches, his friends were hiding, waiting for this nightmare to be over. 

“You’ll be home soon.” Maybe he was imagining the sound of wistful sadness in Maria’s voice. Her eyes were pointed firmly at the window so he couldn’t pinpoint the emotions in them. He almost opened his mouth to repeat her words back to her, but then thought better of it. 

He had something to miss, a life he enjoyed. Maria… well, she had her sister, and he thought they were closer than he and Bartrand had ever been judging by the snippets of conversation he’d heard, the little whispers of things Cole said, but the rest…

Well, the rest didn’t seem like much worth missing. “You could come to Kirkwall after this is all over.” He kept his voice light, neutral. “There are worse places to be.”

Behind him, Blackwall huffed. “Not many.” 

“Ah, but it’s the best kind of shithole. Full of the best people in Thedas.” Varric continued expansively. 

“Or the most notorious criminals.” Cassandra muttered. 

“Like I said, the best kind of people.” Varric grinned and Maria’s lips twitched. He pushed onwards, watching the blurry reflection of her face in the window. “Think about it Princess. What have you always wanted to do?” 

“Exotic dancing. ” Maria teased, finally pulling her eyes from the window as they finished crossing the bridge. Cassandra groaned and Solas rubbed his face briskly in front of them. “I bet I’d make bank on the religious crowd.”

“Dramatic readings of the Chant of Light wearing nothing but a sister’s hat?” Varric chuckled. “Maker, you’d be rich.” 

“Please stop.” Cassandra begged.

“But you want a bookstore.” Cole swivelled in his seat, confused, guileless gaze landing on Maria. “Like the one in Hercinia where the cashier made you coffee and the dog slept behind the counter. The words climbed the walls and you blossomed like ivy and…” 

“Cole.” Maria stopped him gently. “I know, sweetheart. I was joking.” 

“Oh.” Cole stuttered to a stop and she shook her head, meeting Varric’s gaze and stiffening at whatever she saw in his gaze. 

It was  _ cute  _ that she wanted a bookstore of all things, and he didn’t expect her to  _ cute _ and capable of hotwiring a car at the same time. “You’d make more money as a stripper.” He pointed out playfully. 

“It isn’t about the money.” She stated stubbornly. “Money isn’t important as long as you’ve got enough to live off of. Enough to take care of your family.” 

It was a conversation he’d had with Bianca, with Bartrand, and he’d been on the losing side. Hawke had agreed with him, wanting only enough to keep Sunshine and herself out of the Gallows. The rest of their friends, for the most part, happily lived with just enough to get by. 

The more he learned about Maria Cadash, the more he liked her, and judging by the pleased silence around them, he wasn’t the only one. 

“Keep that attitude, Princess.” Varric handed Maria her book back. “We may need it.” 

xx 

The bells of Val Royeaux rang continuously. Maria shifted anxiously from foot to foot and looked up at Cassandra. “Are those friendly bells or burn the witch bells?” 

“The city is in mourning.” Cassandra scowled as the crowd around them thinned. An electronic billboard showed an ad for facial cream guaranteed to make you look ten years younger. Maria fought the urge to crane her neck upward and count the rising skyscrapers above her. She’d lived in the city of Ostwick all her life, but this…

This was a city of glass and mirrors, both more spectacular and more beguiling than anything she’d ever seen. They seemed to go on forever, a veritable forest of Orlesian buildings, each more impressive and opulent than the next. She was sure there were areas full of squat, run down tenement buildings like the kind she knew from Ostwick, but the glitzier areas of her hometown couldn’t compare. Nothing could. 

It was just like on TV, and still she hadn’t been prepared. 

“Never been to Val Royeaux?” Blackwall chuckled warmly. “You’re doing well, so far. Wait until you see the brothels.” 

“You will not be seeing the brothels.” Cassandra replied primly. “We are here for a reason.” 

“How are their prisons?” Maria asked as nonchalantly as possible, toying with the thick black frames on her face. 

“You are not going to be taken to prison.” Solas promised firmly. “You have done nothing wrong.” 

That was not true and they all knew it. Her criminal record, as damning as it was, didn’t even cover half of it. Solas sighed wearily and amended his statement at her skeptical look. “You have done nothing wrong  _ lately _ .” 

“You help.” Cole insisted. “They need you to help.” 

“Seeker!” Someone yelled breathlessly, streaking across the opulent plaza, shoving aside a small knot of well-dressed financial looking types, all wearing those bizarre masks. The man dropped his voice quickly. “Seeker, my lady Herald, there’s been a complication.” 

Maria’s shoulders tensed immediately and Cassansra straightened warily, hand drifting into position at her hip to pull the weapon concealed there. “What is it?”

“Lord Seeker Lucius returned to Val Royeaux with a contingent of templars.” The man wiped his face nervously. “The people of Val Royeaux believe they’re going to protect the city from… from the Inquisition.” 

Varric actually snorted in disbelief from beside her and they both shared an amused, skeptical glance. Cassandra’s eyes burned indignantly. “Protect the city?” She repeated. “From us?” 

Maria Cadash was going to die in this strange, brilliant city surrounded by crazy religious fanatics. She pressed the heel of her hand against her eyes  _ hard _ , until she saw black spots in her vision. The black phone in her pocket buzzed and she nearly dissolved into hysterical laughter. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with  _ that _ anymore.

“Seeker, we can’t send her into the lion’s den.” Varric argued. “I’m all for stupid decisions, but this is suicide.” 

“I am unsure there is any other option. We need the support of…”

“Of old women wringing their hands?” Solas muttered darkly, interrupting Cassandra. “They will sell themselves to the wolves before admitting they are wrong.” 

The other phone in her pocket chimed and she reached for it without thinking, pulling it out and gazing blearily at the notification. 

_ Leliana: There are agents in place to help you escape if it is required.  _ _   
_ _ Leliana: Trust me.  _

While she looked at her phone, both Blackwall and Harding joined the fray. She could hear the bickering all around her rising in a crescendo, a fever pitch. The bells continued to sound, the clamor nearly enough to drown out everything else. 

_ Trust me _ . Maria had spent so long trusting so few people, she wasn’t sure how to trust these strangers arguing around her, the ones imploring her to keep going. It felt more reckless than anything she’d ever done. 

“It’s safe.” Cole reached out to gently touch her arm. “It’s safe to believe in them the way they believe in you.” 

She wasn’t sure, but there wasn’t time for doubt or cowardice. Not now. 

She whipped the glasses off her face before she could think about it for a minute longer, shoving them into the case in her bag next to her copy of the Champion’s Tale and her own gun, before throwing the bag itself over her shoulder. “Right.” She said loudly, cutting through the argument, drawing every set of eyes back to her. Harding squeaked in dismay, taking in the red hair framing Maria’s face like a flag. 

“What are you doing?” Blackwall asked gruffly, stepping aside as Maria took one step forward. 

“What we came here to do.” She answered with more resolve than she felt. “I’ve spent eight hours cooped up on that train. I’m not getting back on it.” 

“You’re insane.” Varric’s voice curled with laughter even as he rubbed the stubble on his jaw anxiously. “I can’t tell if it’s the good kind of crazy or the bad kind, but you’re definitely certifiable.” 

“You’re the one following the Seeker who kidnapped you around willingly.” She retorted. “Pots and kettles, Varric.” 

“I did not kidnap him.” Cassandra muttered, but she looked pleased in spite of herself, cleaving to Maria’s right as they walked forward. Behind her, Maria heard Harding messing with her camera equipment and Blackwall swearing softly under his breath. “The Maker is with us, Cadash.” 

“I wish I had your confidence.” Maria curled her fingers into fists inside her coat pockets when the exited the plaza onto one of the grand, sweeping boulevards. In the distance, she could see an elegant sprie rising up, ribbons fluttering around it in the breeze. “Is that the old Chantry market?” 

“Yes.” Cassandra nodded as they began to walk down the sidewalk. Her gait was deceptively casual, but Maria saw the wariness in every step. “That is where we are going.” 

“Oldest market left in known Thedas.” Solas observed. “I have heard it is now full of designer clothing shops.” 

“Maybe we should have brought Ruffles.” Varric joked weakly. 

“Oh, now that I couldn’t do.” Maria tried to grin bravely. “I’d rather face down a whole platoon of Templars than risk going shopping with Josephine.”

“A wise choice.” Cassandra sniffed with a wry little twist to her lips. 

The crowd in Val Royeaux cleaved around them like they had the blight. On a platform high above the heads of the crowd, an old woman in a nun’s habit held her arms out in greeting, as if she’d embrace all of them to her wrinkly old bosom. 

“Good people of Val Royeaux! Hear my call!” The woman shouted, raising her arms higher. “We mourn the most Holy, our Divine Justinia. Her naive…” 

Cassandra scoffed. 

“And beautiful heart silenced, forever, by treachery!” The woman’s eyes were wide, the whites of them blinding as if she was a spooked animal or a rabid squirrel. Maria didn’t take her hands out of her pockets, even as their group stopped in front of the woman’s stage. The cold winter wind lifted strands of red hair, blew them in front of her face. Above her, Maria heard the whirl of Harding’s camera drone. 

“Do you wonder when her murderer will face justice?” The woman cried out passionately, leveling a pointed finger in Maria’s direction. Blackwall growled low behind her. “Well, wonder no more!” 

“Nothing like the sound of rambling religious ranting for an afternoon pick me up. Nearly as good as coffee.” Varric muttered low. Cassandra didn’t even bother to shush him. 

“She’s frightened.” Cole whispered. “Of you.” 

“Behold!” The woman yelled. “The so-called Herald of Andraste! She claims to rise from the ashes where our beloved leader fell.”

Maria opened her mouth to shut the Herald of Andraste nonsense down, again, but before she could the woman continued her impassioned speech. “The Chantry knows you are a false prophet! The Maker would send no common,  _ dwarven,  _ criminal in our hour of need!” 

Temper brought a flush to her skin, made her step recklessly forward. “Listen here lady, I’m  _ not _ claiming to be anyone’s prophet. I just want to close the vortex and go home before it swallows up the whole damn world.” 

The woman’s eyes hardened, obviously taken aback that the common, dwarven criminal had anything to say. Cassandra stepped forward, glaring, taking her place once more beside her. “It’s true! The Inquisition only wishes to end this… this madness before it is too late!” 

The crowd muttered, seethed around them like a hive of wasps. Behind the old woman, the door to the grand cathedral with its ringing bells flew open and she lifted her chin in triumphant pride. “It is already too late for you!” The woman claimed as a man in dark body armor with sallow skin and a hooked nose appeared, followed by a dozen templars. Maria schooled her face carefully into apathy, even as she counted the men and women following the Lord Seeker and examined their assault rifles from the corner of her eye.

“The templars have returned to the loving arms of the chantry! They will face this Inquisition! The people will be safe once…”

The Lord Seeker walked past her without a second glance. The woman paused in mid-sentence, obviously confused, her mouth gaping like a fish pulled straight from the harbor. Her eyes were so focused on the Lord Seeker’s back, she didn’t see one of the other gray camo-clad templars rear back with his fist.

Maria felt the sucker punch sympathetically in her own jaw like a dull throb. The woman fell like a bag of bricks. 

“Holy shit…” Varric breathed behind her. The Lord Seeker was still crossing the platform, completely unperturbed, his templars with him, and Maria…

Maria acted without thinking. She moved quickly to the edge of the platform, hosited herself up while her companions still stared, agape, at the scene. It took her only a second to make her way to the crazy old bat’s side, a half a second to determine she was still conscious, moaning feebly and her eyes fluttering open. 

She’d have a hell of a shiner tomorrow, probably the first one the Chantry mother every sported. 

In another half second, she whirled on the retreating figure moving to the stairs on the other side of the platform. “HEY!” 

Her voice was the only sound piercing the shocked silence, her heartbeat pounding in her own head. “Hey you asswipe!” She called out, this finally making the Lord Seeker stop and turn his attention to her. He had to be easily nearly double her height, his mouth pulled into a snarl as he stared down at her. He motioned the rest of the templars to continue on and they did. 

“Was this supposed to be impressive?” Maria asked, gesturing to the old woman laid out behind her, the rest of the Chantry sisters fluttering helplessly to their knees beside her. “Because from over here, it looks like you’re a fucking asshole!” 

“She is beneath us.” The man stated, eyes flashing angrily. “As are you.” 

“Lord Seeker!” Cassandra finally seemed to have regained her equilibrium. The man turned his disdainful attention to her.

“You have no right to address me. Creating a heretical movement. Raising up a dwarven whore as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed.” The man intoned gravely, letting his disgusted expression trail over the crowd. “You should  _ all  _ be ashamed. The templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge these vile witches. Yet, you would prevent us from doing our holy duty.”

“Does your holy duty include threatening innocent people and punching old women?” She could feel her pulse thrumming in her temples, the words spilling out in anger. “Because if it does, I’m not going to stand for it.”

“Really?” He sneered. “And who are you to do anything about it?” 

“My  _ name _ is Maria Cadash!” Not just a nameless common criminal, a woman to be dismissed with a slur and a wink. She was the only one standing on the platform beyond the Lord Seeker and she felt at once both small and mighty. “And I’m going to close the vortex and help these people without  _ your _ help while you keep punching little old ladies!” 

The silence that greeted her words was stunned, heavy, and there was a brief flicker of something like shock on the Lord Seeker’s face before he reassembled his sneer and laughed hollowly, turning and descending the platform. The crowd parted around him much the same way it had for her, with a sense of foreboding fear, but the people were staring at her now, jaws open or pressed tightly closed, folded hands to their lips or hiding their eyes. 

She thought she was shaking, but she couldn’t be sure. The woman behind her on the ground groaned and Maria turned, scowling down. “Is she alright?” She asked the other sisters. 

Before she heard the answer, she heard Varric from down below turning to Harding. “Please tell me you got that on camera.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Herald is born? 
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER: The dream scene I had that started this all.


	15. The Piano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria falters at the thought of being more than she is.   
Varric makes a catastrophic mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varric's part of this chapter is the scene that inspired this whole story! It's incredibly angsty, I'm so sorry.

After the confrontation outside the Chantry, the Seeker whisked them away to the nicest hotel Maria had ever stepped foot in. She took over two elegant, posh meeting rooms. Harding and Cassandra turned the first one into a mobile command base.

Maria had been trapped with them for two hours on a video call with Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen. By the time she escaped into the second room, the last thing she wanted to do was watch  _ more _ of herself. Unfortunately, the only concession she’d wrung out of the men was muting the damn TV. 

Harding wasn’t the only one that got her on camera. It seemed like there were a hundred different videos, all showing her confrontation with the Lord Seeker, from a hundred different angles. Some were nearly pristine, presumably from the top of the line smartphones, some were so grainy she was indistinguishable but for her red hair. 

The twenty-four hour news channels were having a field day. They were watching one program, hosted by an overweight balding human whose face glistened under caked on makeup. One of the cell phone videos ran in a loop on the whole left side of the screen while the host and a call-in pundit’s heads occupied the right side in tiny little boxes. 

Maria watched part of the video, again, where she passionately declared that she didn’t need the Lord Seeker’s help, her face flushed, eyes flashing. Bea had already sent sixteen text messages with different screen caps, most of them with steaming head emojis or the words “temper tantrum” typed over top of them with gifs of people laughing. 

Maria sunk down further into her chair and hid her face in her hands with a muttered oath. 

“This is my favorite part.” Blackwall chuckled warmly and reclined back in his own chair with an air of satisfaction. “That’s the look of a man who just shit himself a bit.” 

The sound was muted, but the talking heads next to the footage seemed to nod along in agreement with Blackwall. Maria groaned. “I can’t believe they keep showing this.” 

“But look how small your mugshot is now!” Varric was absolutely gleeful, both phone and tablet on the table in front of him, showing both Facebook and Twitter. #MariaCadash was trending. Again. So was #Redheads and #HotHerald. 

Her mugshot had, indeed, shrunk to a thumbnail in the bottom scrolling portion of the screen. If this kept up, they’d have to take it off entirely, so at least there was that. And, as far as she could tell, her sordid past hadn’t been fodder for the news for  _ nearly _ four hours. A new record. 

“Stop scowling at the TV, kid. Your face is gonna stay that way.” Varric advised. Maria peeked between her fingers to see Cole glaring at a polished photo of the Lord Seeker displayed where the video had been. 

“He wants to hurt you. Humiliated. Hateful.” Cole dropped his gaze nervously to the table. “I won’t let him.” 

“I feel safer already.” Maria managed a weak grin and kicked Cole’s chair playfully. “He’d have to get through Cassandra, at any rate.” 

“Yes.” Cole nodded fervently. “That would be difficult.” 

They all laughed, even Solas from his chair in the corner. They didn’t have time to settle back down before the door to the room burst open and Harding nearly leapt across the table for the remote, successfully elbowing Varric in the sternum as she retrieved it with a flourish and pointed it at the TV. “Forget this trash…” 

“That’s what I’ve been saying.” Maria mumbled.

“Voila!” Harding exclaimed, bringing up another news station. A soberly dressed older woman had the footage from Harding’s drone camera in the top right corner of the screen. Harding hit the volume button and she heard the woman’s crisp Orlesian accent. 

“Ambassador Montiliyet states that the declaration from Maria Cadash aligns with the Inquisition’s broad, humanitarian mission to end the threat of the vortex while striving for peace across Thedas. Unnamed sources within the Inquisition itself suggest that if the templar order is committed to their solitude, the Inquisition would be amenable to an alliance with the Liberated Witches of Redcliffe…” 

“Would they really?” Solas asked, turning his green eyes to Cassandra in the doorway. “Or is this a political stunt?” 

“The vortex is the priority.” Cassandra’s voice was neutral, flat. “If the templars will not assist, we must seek allies elsewhere.” 

“The Inquisition has not released a firm answer on whether they are adopting an official position on Maria Cadash being the Herald of Andraste.” The woman continued. “Despite their silence, she is gaining a cult following dedicated to her heroics in the Crossroads and…” 

The person in the video hardly looked like her. She wasn’t wearing a tattered old coat, she wasn’t silent and pale. The woman in the video looked fierce. She sounded confident, she was mighty and proud and… 

It wasn’t the woman she saw in the mirror every day. This was some crafted image, some impossible fever dream made up of clever PR techniques and… 

“No.” Cole whispered, covering her hand with his own. “No. You’re wrong. It’s not a lie.” 

“I need some air.” She needed to go somewhere sane. She nearly knocked her chair over in her haste, nearly bowled Cassandra over when she pushed past her. 

The hotel lobby was too pristine, too white, with miles of high glass windows stretching above her head. She paused, disoriented, among the neutral furnishings and odd, jarring modern art. She could have stayed there forever if not for the plunking notes of a piano, discordant in the air. 

A child laughed, a young human girl in a smart little uniform. A woman, an elven nanny she assumed, hushed her and tugged her quickly away from the instrument, abandoned in the corner. 

The one thing worth any money in their apartment in Hercinia was a piano, one she scraped and saved for, bought used, and presented to Fynn on his birthday after roping in a half-dozen neighborhood teens into helping her move it. 

“Do you play?” 

She should have known Cassandra would follow her. She swore under her breath and slumped, exhausted, into one of the plush leather chairs. Somehow, despite the largeness of it, it was still the most uncomfortable chair she’d ever sat in. “I’m not absconding.”

“I did not believe you were.” Cassandra took the chair opposite hers, spreading her legs wide and hunkering down as if to give a last-minute pep talk. 

“Please don’t.” Maria groaned. “Please don’t tell me the Maker is with us or that we’re going to succeed. I can’t stand to hear it one more time.” 

“Alright.” Cassandra didn’t relax her posture, but she nodded. “Then… tell me about yourself. I know frighteningly little about you beyond what is splashed across the headlines.” 

“What does it matter?” Maria’s laughed bitterly. 

“It matters to me. I want to know who you are. What you like.” Cassandra shifted uneasily. “You do not have the same camaraderie with me that you do with the others, and it is my fault. I would… I would like to start again.” 

“How?” Maria asked, her throat cracked and dry. She felt numb, exhausted. 

“Do you play the piano?” Cassandra repeated. 

“Yes.” It was a simple enough question, anyway. “But I haven’t played in a long time. I’m not sure I remember how.” 

The woman in the video was the person she  _ should _ have been if life was fair, but she hadn’t been that person in a long time either. 

She was glad to go upstairs to the quiet, clean room the Seeker arranged. It was still too white, too sparse, the edges too sharp, but the thought of laying down on the thick white comforter lifted her spirits.

Which, of course, meant that her phone rang the second she stripped off her coat. It wasn’t the  _ good  _ phone, though. It was the black one, the dummy, and she dreaded even looking at it. Except, the number on the screen was Leliana’s. She hesitated for a moment before she grabbed it and accepted the call. 

“Hello?” She tried to keep her voice steady. 

“I’m glad you answered. I wanted there to be a record that I called you.” Leliana’s velvet Orlesian voice sounded as calm as usual. “I’m calling to inform you that the Inquisition has taken your sister into custody.” 

“What?” She had to be tired, because that sentence definitely wasn’t right. 

Leliana giggled. “Yes. We decided it was the best way to make it appear as if you had nothing to do with it. I arranged for Inquisition agents to waylay and manhandle Beatrix in full view of several associates from the Carta. She played her part admirably.” 

Bea was a born actress. Leliana continued cheerfully. “I then informed Dwyka since he could not be trusted, I would be in charge of your sister’s well-being. He is furious, of course, but since I’m holding the purse strings… well, it hurts to no longer have Bea within his grip, but he can manage. I suspect he will be calling you to demand her return.” 

“And I’m supposed to play dumb?” Maria stated numbly, collapsing on the bed. 

“No. You are to display that temper of yours and act as incensed at my interference as you care to be. Make him think you are on his side.” Leliana counseled calmly. “Your sister is safely with Mister Hisraad…”

“Bull.” Maria corrected. 

Leliana laughed. “And she’s been given funds to go wherever she wishes. I’ve made several recommendations.” 

The words stuck in her throat, but she managed to get them out regardless. “Thank you.” 

“It is nothing.” She could picture Leliana waving her concerns away. “Thank  _ you _ for being so impressive this afternoon.”

“I didn’t do anything.” She really hadn’t. Leliana tsked in her ear in disbelief. 

The phone beeped and she pulled it away long enough to look at the screen. She blinked wearily at the name and choked on a dry sob. 

“Is it him?” Leliana asked quietly. 

“Yes.” Maria steeled herself, tried to freeze the blood flowing through her veins the way Solas froze the air. 

“You can do this.” Leliana encouraged. “I have faith, Herald.” 

Maria wished she did. Leliana’s call disconnected and she was left staring at the screen with a mixture of disgust, anger, and cold dread. She swiped up to accept the call and put the phone to her ear. “Dwyka…” 

“Listen here, cunt.” His voice was a snarl that made the back of her neck prickle. “You may be able to make some piss-ass templar shit his pants, but…” 

“She took Bea. She took Bea so I couldn’t leave.” The lie sat, twisted, on her tongue. She heard Dwyka go silent while he pondered this angle. A movement at the corner of her eye made her turn her whole head, broke her fierce concentration on Dwyka’s breathing, reminded her he wasn’t there, she wouldn’t feel him looming behind her. 

A piece of paper had been slid under the door and Maria stood, walked toward it. “Cadash…” Dwyka began, voice still menacing. 

“I just want to come home.” It was just a role, she could play a role. “They’re never going to let me come home, they’re going to keep Bea and make me some shitty Herald…” 

She bent to unfold the paper with trembling fingers and shook it open. Cole’s neat print spilled across the page. 

_ I reminded them to tune the piano so you could play the song you like. The one nobody else knows.  _

xx 

“Varric are you available for a call?” 

Varric’s laptop had sixteen different browser tabs open, there was a recorded call playing on his tablet, and he’d somehow been roped into a meme war with Hawke via their secure messaging system, one he was winning. He’d been so distracted, his baby’s voice in his ear nearly made him jump out of his skin. 

“That depends on who’s calling.” Varric replied smoothly. 

“Bianca Davri. She wishes to video chat.” The AI chirped. Varric tipped his head to the side, immediately intrigued. 

“Well, sweetheart, put her through on the tablet.” He instructed, beginning to close out of his tabs on the laptop. He ignored the dinging message from Hawke on the phone and kicked back in his desk chair, waiting. 

This hotel was so damn Orlesian he’d be lucky if he left it without an obnoxious accent. He’d even attempted to venture to the bar downstairs, took one look at the pretentious and expensive menu, and fled back upstairs as quickly as he could. Since then, he’d been attempting to catch up on everything he  _ should _ have been doing, if he hadn’t been talked into following the swaying hips of the Herald of Andraste halfway across Thedas. 

A queasy feeling swirled to life in his stomach. It felt… wrong, somehow, to be taking a call from Bianca and thinking about Maria. He had to remind himself that nothing was happening with  _ either _ woman for a plethora of different, but equally important, reasons. Thus, there wasn’t any need to feel guilty. 

None at all. 

The video chat on the tablet connected and in a flash, Varric stared into Bianca’s brilliant turquoise eyes and her smug little half-smile. “Should I assume I didn’t interrupt anything important?” 

“When do I do  _ anything _ important?” He asked in return with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. “Tell me you’ve got news on the red lyrium.” 

“No.” She said quickly. “Not yet, anyway. But this is important. I’ve been doing some research, and…” 

“Now probably isn’t the time to be launching a new product.” He teased halfheartedly. “The economy is in the shitter everywhere except Par Vollen, and I can’t bribe our way into  _ that  _ market to save our collective lives.” 

“No.” Bianca’s eyes narrowed. “Into Maria Cadash.” 

It wasn’t often Varric found himself speechless, but on occasion, Bianca could do it. He looked at her face on the monitor and fought the urge to shake the whole contraption. “Maker’s ass. Why?” 

“Because you’re too busy staring at her other assets to wonder what kind of person she is.” Bianca replied smoothly, leaning forward and tapping her own screen. Varric watched as his screen split and Bianca’s image shrank and slipped to the top right corner. “I got the trial records from Hercinia.” 

“She was found not guilty.” Varric didn’t budge his eyes from Bianca in the top right. He didn’t want to look at the images she was pulling up on the left, a shared file library for him to delve into. If he wanted to. 

He didn’t want to. It was personal, it was Maria’s tragedy and he didn’t need…

“She had gunshot residue on her hands.” Bianca continued on, nonplussed. “But the gun the police found hadn’t been fired recently. There was also a sign another man had been in the house, they found short dark hair, but they couldn’t get DNA off of it. It wasn’t microscopically similar to Fynn’s.” 

“Bianca…” 

“And Fynn Dunhark’s father was going to testify that his son was leaving her and returning to the fold. Guess the kid got tired of slumming it.” There was a manic gleam in Bianca’s eyes. “But he killed himself before he could testify. Probably why she ended up getting off.” 

“Or someone else broke in and killed the poor kid.” Varric spat the words through clenched teeth. “Bianca, this is only half the story…” 

“But she hasn’t told you the other half, has she?” Bianca, like a surgeon, cut with precision. “If she doesn’t have anything to hide…” 

“She probably watched her boyfriend get gunned down. That’s fucking traumatic and if she doesn’t want to…” 

“Dwyka has dark hair.” Bianca cut in. “Pulled up his mug shot. Well, one of them. Ugly bastard.” 

“Hate to break it to you, but lots of people have dark hair.” Varric pointed out. 

“Did you know she’s fucking him?” 

Once, Varric got hit by an ice spell slung at him while helping Hawke do… something. He couldn’t even remember. Had to do with blood witches, he thought. Or maybe that damn mining expedition of hers. He remembered the biting cold like it was yesterday, the way it sliced through him and started to turn his blood to crystals before Hawke swooped in to save his hairy chest. 

She wouldn’t be swooping in this time. This time, it was just him, his idiocy, and Bianca. 

“I didn’t think so.” Bianca sounded so satisfied with herself he considered disconnecting, but he was still frozen in shock. “Has been for… at least seven years. Since she got out of lock-up in Hercinia. He’s got other whores, but it’s widely known in the law enforcement community that Maria Cadash is the woman he always goes back to. The cops won’t say anything publicly about it, some loyalty to the woman’s poor dead dad, but…” 

“Shut up.” Varric hissed. “Just shut up, for once in your damn life can you…” 

“I’m just trying to protect you!” Bianca exploded, color rising to her face. “I  _ see _ the way you’re trailing after her like a lovesick puppy and she’s…” 

A spirit of compassion shadowed her every step, she earned the loyalty of people left and right, her sad, wistful gaze when she thought nobody was paying attention… 

“You’re wrong and they’re wrong.” 

“She used your phone to call him.” Bianca was speaking quickly. “You let her borrow your phone, right? When she woke up? She used it to call her sister and the second call she made was to a burner. It was his.”

“You’re going through  _ my _ call history?” Varric asked, astonished. “That doesn’t seem, I don’t know, a little insane?” 

“I know you, Varric.” Bianca claimed, scowling. “And I know how  _ stupid  _ you get. She’s no Hawke, she’s not a hero. She’s a lying thug, Varric. Go through the records, see...”

“Goodbye.” Varric snapped, immediately pressing to disconnect the call. Bianca’s serious face vanished, but the shared drive she opened stayed right there. 

Varric didn’t want to look. He  _ wanted _ a cigarette and a bottle of whiskey. Damnit, Hawke would be pissed if he started smoking again. 

His phone dinged and he thought about answering it, talking this through with Hawke, calming himself down before...

He set his phone aside and opened the first file. And he read until he could read anymore. 

Varric heard music from the hotel lobby before the elevator doors even opened. Blighted hell, it was after three in the morning, he was both surly and morose, all he wanted was to go buy a pack of cigarettes, and who in Andraste’s dimpled asscheeks chose the asscrack of night to linger over a hotel lobby grand piano anyway? Weren’t they just put there to be pretentious?

It was his fault, he kept repeating that to himself. He knew she’d be trouble the first time he saw the Carta tattoo on her shoulder. 

The melody from the piano sounded careworn, plucked by skilled but uncertain fingers, a sad little song that hinted at a sea of melancholy. It reminded him of a younger, more uncertain time in his own existence, and his soul quivered in response. The desperate urge for a cigarette calmed, suppressed by his writer’s curiosity. What kind of creature sat and coaxed such sad songs out of thin air in the middle of the night? 

He ducked past the elaborate columns until he caught sight of a lone figure sitting on the gleaming black bench. He couldn’t say he was particularly surprised that Maria Cadash was still awake, conjured like his own personal demon to torment him endlessly, but he was shocked that it was her fingers trailing lovingly, hesitatingly, over ivory keys. 

They were deft fingers, he reminded himself. Suited for playing the piano, he supposed, although he couldn’t picture them doing anything but holding guns and switchblades or picking locks and cheating at cards now. 

Not strictly true, his mind supplied traitorously. He imagined her fingers dancing over a murderous thug’s muscled arms, her legs wrapped around his waist while blood dried on the pavement behind them. He imagined her fingers in dark hair and… 

The song she brought forth, almost as if it were half-forgotten, seemed too gentle. It had no place in the heart of the woman exposed so masterfully by Bianca’s research.

Maria Cadash. Straight-A student, graduating high school early after her father’s untimely suicide and working at a shady bar in Ostwick. Maria Cadash, joining the Carta at the tender age of eighteen before seducing a rich boy and running off with him.

Maria Cadash, gunshot residue on her hands, Fynn Dunhark’s blood under her nails. 

Maria Cadash, right back to the Carta the second she left Hercinia behind. Maria Cadash in a monster’s bed for  _ seven _ years. 

She knew what he was. She’d told him so. 

Maria Cadash handing out candy bars, trekking through the woods with a smile, breathless with joy on the back of a motorcycle, her lips pressed against his cheek. Shining like an unexpected beacon for the smallest, weakest things. Tumbling bravely up a mountaintop to her doom, reading his book in the train, her hand on shoulder and her lips tipped upwards and the snow spiraling around them and…

And even if Varric would never have guessed he would stumble into this private, guarded moment, he had to say every bit of it suited her. The glacial expanse of white marble the elegant pillars, the bright city sparkling outside floor to ceiling windows in the middle of the night, all it did was serve to frame her as thoroughly as the ocean framed a siren. 

Adjectives began to tumble through his brain. Alluring, captivating, irresistible. If this were one of his novels, the ones she loved and read repeatedly, this would be the moment the protagonist realized his complete, irrevocable, devastating attraction to the erstwhile heroine. 

It wasn’t, Varric reminded himself. Despite everything he’d seen, she was still a criminal, a thug, a drug dealer and a nearly-convicted murderer. It didn’t matter that she could pluck out a melody to make Andraste herself weep. 

But his legs hadn’t gotten the memo that the rest of his body wanted to skirt around the woman he felt so betrayed by. Somehow, his traitorous limbs deposited him right next to the gleaming black bench at Maria’s right elbow. His shadow fell across her hands and she paused, looking up through her thick eyelashes, a wicked smile lifting just one corner of her lips.

“Varric.” She purred, all smoke and heat as her fingers stilled over the keys. “Early morning or late night?” 

Despite her voice, she looked exhausted. Eyes a bit red, as if she’d been crying. 

“You’re a gambling woman.” He couldn’t help counting the freckles dashed across the bridge of her nose. “What would you think?”

“Honestly, I thought I’d see our Seeker friend first.” Maria laughed, a sultry, whiskey flavored sound that curled somewhere inside Varric’s stomach despite the wrongness underneath it, the way it sounded like she was trying too hard to be cheerful. Had it always been there? Was it just there  _ tonight _ ? “She seems like the obnoxious sort that gets up at the crack of dawn to jog or beat up a punching bag.” 

“And you were going to risk becoming that punching bag by lingering down here?” He queried in astonishment. “I didn’t take you for stupid, Maria.” 

She made a non-committal noise in the back of her throat, turning her attention back to pale fingers over white keys. She pressed down on a few, letting the chord linger in the air like a ghost. “I also didn’t take you for a pianist.” He continued on, unable to stop and let that sound get even more at home inside him than it already was. He couldn’t risk her getting more at home inside him that she already was. 

It was another one of those small, restless movements she was always making. Maria could earn a gold star in fidgeting, surely, but he doubted she realized how much she gave away in that small brush of her fingertips over her right wrist. He knew underneath the sleeve she touched there was an arrow tattoo with two sets of initials. 

“It’s not something they teach to poor kids in the slums of Ostwick.” She said simply, voice carefully light. “I didn’t learn until I was older, but someone told me I had talent.” 

“Fynn Dunhark taught you.” A statement, not a question. The man whose name was written in blood in Maria’s past, all over the records on his laptop, a crimson stain on her record. “The man you were put on trial for killing.” 

He didn’t expect her to look back up at him, but she did. She held his gaze with those shining, silvery orbs of hers like she had nothing to hide, but Varric knew better. He had the whole case file, thanks to Bianca. Every last seedy detail. “Yes.” She answered simply. “He taught me.” 

The arrow tattoo on her wrist had Fynn Dunhark’s initials above the line of the shaft, hers below. A lover’s tattoo, he’d thought at the time. He remembered wondering what happened to the youthful mistake she’d embedded into her flesh. That was before he knew that Fynn Dunhark had been dead for nearly ten years with her bullet in his chest. 

She’d been a fatal youthful indiscretion for him. 

“Did you kill him?” For some reason, he needed to know. He was unraveling under her level gaze, unable to reconcile the laughing woman handing treats to children with the empty eyed murderess in her mugshot staring back at him from his computer. The same hotel lobby siren wrenching heartfelt melodies from an old, forgotten hotel lobby piano couldn’t be the girl who murdered someone in cold blood, or worse, let her Carta boyfriend do it. 

“I’m not supposed to answer questions about this.” She began immediately, and fuck if it wasn’t the same exact answer she’d given the Seeker. She swallowed and her eyes flicked away from his. “My lawyer…” 

“Doesn’t like it.” Varric snapped in aggravation. “I can imagine, since you got off on a technicality more than anything. Suicide of the prime witness against you kinda robbed the prosecution of their case, didn’t it?” 

Maria’s eyes flashed to him again and they narrowed. “How do you know that?” She demanded. 

“Answer the question, Maria.” He insisted. “Are you a murderer?” 

“I don’t owe you an answer.” Maria stated flatly, turning her eyes from his in a gesture clearly meant to be dismissive. Her hotel room key was on top of the piano and she reached for it, her curvy body stretching suggestively just like some kind of film noir femme fatale, exactly how he’d write her if he ever turned his pen to the tragedy of Fynn Dunhark. 

Desire reared within him, a primal possessive thing that made him picture her naked, his hand in her hair, the keys of the piano jarring and discordant as he thrust into her while she scrambled for purchase amongst the ebony and ivory. She’d make the best sounds, he was sure of it, he could bring her crashing, keening, shattering to the edge over and over again until the only word falling from those perfect pink lips was his name. 

When they were done, he’d pull her flushed and sweaty body to his and she’d look at him with the same sweet, gentle expression she aimed at Cole, or maybe that light, teasing smirk she saved for the Seeker. If he was lucky, he might even get that respectful awe she sometimes directed towards Solas. 

Then she’d shoot him in the chest. Or Dwyka would, he guessed. 

“Off the record.” Varric’s voice felt as rough as he did. Damnit, he wanted that cigarette. “I can keep a secret, Cadash. Did you do it? Did he hurt you?” 

That was the only thing that made sense. The foolish man left his cushy life for her, and if he regretted his decision, took his rage out on her… well, that was self-defense, and Fynn Dunhark should have known better than to abuse a Carta rat. But Maria’s eyes snapped back to his and she didn’t look frightened, she didn’t look scared. 

She looked furious, the same way she’d looked when she stared down the former Lord Seeker. “Fynn would never hurt me.” She hissed defensively, color rising in splotchy bursts of red all over her pale throat. “Never. He loved me.” 

Her voice cracked on the words, a tide of grief and loss so deep Varric could be swept away in it. “So it was an accident? Too many loaded guns lying around?” He lowered his voice to a rumble. “Tell me you’re not a murderer, Cadash. Tell me I wasn’t  _ that _ wrong about you.” 

“What does it matter!” There were tears in her eyes and her palm slammed down, jarring all the elegant keys, the piano itself groaning its displeasure. “What does it matter  _ who  _ pulled the trigger when it was  _ my fault _ ! Fynn died and it should have been me!” 

The words landed like bullets in his own chest, everything distilling into a perfect moment of stillness as she realized what she’d admitted, as he realized the story was  _ wrong _ , built on one shattering lie that brought the whole thing crashing down. 

Maria Cadash loved Fynn Dunhark, mourned him still, any fool could see that. That meant she didn’t pull the trigger. Whatever happened the night Fynn Dunhark was murdered, she believed it was her fault, but it wasn’t her bullet in his heart six feet under the ground. And in her beautiful, expressive eyes, Varric could read agony, guilt, a raw wound of grief that hadn’t healed. The second she said Fynn’s name. The second she said it should have been her, Varric knew. 

She had loved Fynn Dunhark. She  _ still _ loved Fynn Dunhark. She didn’t love Dwyka, she…

Suddenly, haltingly, everything clicked. Cole’s voice, claiming that Maria let other people hurt her to protect others. Cole talking about bruises on her wrists, silent screams. 

_ Dwyka doesn’t like it when she’s late.  _

_ I know what he is. _

He hadn’t been wrong about her. But he’d been  _ fucking  _ blind. He took a step back, stunned, gave her valuable room to breathe. She was panting as if she’d run a mile, the color high in her cheeks. Before he could stop her, she’d grabbed the key from the piano and turned to flee. He barely caught the sleeve of her jacket, just over that little arrow tattoo on her wrist. “Maria…” 

“What do you want from me?” She whirled on him in a fury, a storm breaking on a jagged shoreline. “Damnit, what do you people  _ want  _ from me?” She demanded, agonized.

He didn’t answer in time, his quick, clever tongue finally failing him as she ripped her sleeve from his grasp and dashed out into the dark city night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not a Varric story without Bianca's shenanigans.


	16. The Friends of Red Jenny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria and Cole go on a scavenger hunt that leads to a Red Jenny and a showdown.  
Varric wallows and has to inform the Seeker the Herald is a bit lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is lighter on the angst, heavier on the humor. Enjoy!

Maria wasn't certain how long it took Cole to find her and she had precious little idea of where exactly she was. Her instinct had been to flee, as far away from Varric's uncharacteristically hard eyes as she could get. In that way, she supposed, she was more a wild animal than a woman. Which is exactly how he had _ looked _ at her. 

Varric believed all of it, every lie and half truth, each negative stereotype splashed in the papers or on the news. She hadn't thought he would. She thought…

Damnit. It didn't matter what she thought. It didn't matter at all.

Cole found her on a rusted bench in an unfamiliar park full of strange, grotesque sculptures. In the daylight, they probably formed animals and heroes made of hedges and bronze. In the darkest part of the night, with only dim street lights to illuminate them, they looked like the demons that fell from the vortex and crawled their way out of the cracks she sealed. 

But at least she was home, right where she belonged with all the other monsters, part of the night, part of the seething mass of the under city, the homeless people she could hear shuffling through the park. She was in the silence and shadows and she was an idiot to think she could ever…

"Stars form when the nebula collapses." Cole blurted out. Maria pulled her eyes from her tightly clasped hands and looked over at him. He'd been silent since he appeared, sitting beside her like a stone statue himself. 

"You don't like science. You like words and art, people and music." Cole clasped his own fingers tightly together, a mirror of her posture. "But the nebula collapses anyway, no matter what. Matter spins, the dust glows."

She didn't want to admit she'd been crying, but she could hear it in her throat anyway, a scratchy sound with little harmony or persuasive powers. "Is there a point here, Cole?" 

"You are collapsing. You are crumbling." Cole frowned. "You are falling under your own weight. This isn't how you die. This is how you’re born, but it hurts." 

Maria looked away, quickly. She felt Cole's thin fingers, too cold and brittle, over top of hers. "He didn't want to hurt you." 

"Don't." The word was torn, raw, from her throat. “Don’t.” 

“He wants to believe in you, but she makes it hard. Tangles him up, ties him in knots, writes in algorithms, equations, dollar signs.” 

“I don’t care.” She bit out. 

“Yes you do.” Cole whispered. “You want him to like you.” 

“I don’t.” She lied, even though she knew Cole wouldn’t believe it. She needed to hear herself say it. “I don’t. I’ve been an idiot. People like me…” 

People like her didn’t get to wipe the slate clean. People like her didn’t get to bask in the glow of people like Cassandra, Solas, Blackwall, Varric… they were good people. She was… 

She was a criminal. She was the whore of the biggest monster she knew. She’d failed her father, her grandmother, Bea, Fynn… She’d fail the Inquisition, too. 

“You were so young.” Cole murmured. “It wasn’t fair. You were so young and it was all so heavy.” 

“Cole.” She half-moaned the name into her palms, covering her whole face with her hands. 

Cole was unusually, blissfully, quiet. It lasted so long she almost thought he left her alone with her heaviness and despair, her grief and fear, but when she peeked through her fingers she saw him with his face pointed into the shadows. “She wants to give you a message.” Cole whispered softly, jerking his chin. “But she’s not sure its you.” 

Maria looked up and pierced the darkness with her gaze. The shape across the path took form, a woman with wild hair and a coat at least five sizes too big with bags over her shoulders. Maria didn’t feel the prickle of threat in the air, so she hazarded a greeting. “Hello?” 

“You the Herald?” The woman asked brusquely. “Didn’t take you for the type to bawlin’ on a park bench at the asscrack of night, but…” 

Maria’s hackles went up immediately and she tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Can I help you?” 

The woman stepped forward, face dirty, but eyes surprisingly clear. She nodded, once, as if confirming. “There it is. Got a note for you. From a friend.” 

“Who?” 

“A friend.” The woman held out a slip of paper that looked crimson in the street light. “You takin’ it or what your Heraldness?” 

Cole didn’t say anything, so Maria reached out and grabbed the paper. As soon as it was in her hands, the other woman seemed to dissolve back into the blackness around them while Maria flipped the paper open and held it up in the feeble light. 

_ People say you’re special. I want to help and I can bring everyone. There’s a baddie in Val Royeaux. I hear he wants to hurt you. Have a search for the red marks and maybe you’ll hurt him first. _   
_ Bring guns. _ _   
_Friends of Red Jenny

“Who is Red Jenny?” Cole asked, bewildered. Maria swore and stood, peering around them. 

“Not people I want to get on the bad side of. I’ve got enough problems.” Maria sighed and rubbed at her eyes again. “C’mon.” 

“You don’t have guns with you?” Cole questioned. 

“It’s just a scavenger hunt.” Maria scowled, shoving the paper with the crude map into her pocket. “How dangerous can it be?”

It didn’t occur to her until later, much later, that she probably had the same thought climbing up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes before it blew sky high.

The map led them to a shady, overgrown tunnel in the park. There, a bright red spray painted arrow pointed them towards Val Royeaux’s harbor. At the harbor, thankfully before the smell got to be unbearable, another arrow directed them into the Eastern part of the city. This part of the city seemed full of clubs, bars, restaurants, and ritzy as hell. Even in her undoubtedly expensive coat, Maria felt underdressed. Thankfully, there were no signs of patrons on the street in the dim dawn light. 

It was all a good distraction though. Except, honestly, if she’d have known there’d be so much damn walking she’d have gone back to the hotel and bugged Cassandra for a ride. But if she went back to the hotel, she was terrified she’d find Varric frozen right where she left him, furious and judgmental and… 

How did he know about the suicide? That it was connected to her acquittal? It was enough to make her break into a cold sweat, to wonder how far his digging had gone, and how close she was to her most important secrets being exposed. 

She pulled out her phone as they walked, tapping the messages out in the silence. 

_ Maria: Hey, you awake? _   
_ Leliana: Of course I am. Are you alright? It is early. _ _   
Leliana: Or perhaps late, no?_

She was right, it was early. She hoped Cassandra hadn’t been serious about having breakfast together, because she was going to miss that appointment. The last thing Maria needed was another lecture from the Seeker about taking off on her own. 

  
_ Maria: I’m fine. Quick question. You said my records were still sealed in Hercinia, but you have them. Is there anyway anyone else could? _ _   
Leliana: Do you suspect someone? _

She hated to type it, but she didn’t have any choice. She took a deep breath and typed her answer. 

_ Maria: Varric. _ _   
_ _ Leliana: I will investigate. Give me fifteen minutes. _

“It wasn’t him.” Cole mumbled with a sulking glare. “He didn’t want it.”

Maria ignored him, catching sight instead of a bright red X spray painted on the dark window of a nightclub. Inside, Maria could see the high top tables, the bars with the chairs stacked neatly on top, but no movement. 

“You cleaned the bar in Hercinia the same way.” Cole murmured. “Except you left one stool down because he always came to walk you home.” 

“Yeah.” Maria felt her heart clench and she had to ignore the icy stab of pain in her gut. “He was like that, wasn’t he?” 

“Proud. Protective.” Maria watched Cole blink owlishly in the window. “He’s worried. It’s been so long.” 

“Fynn’s dead. He doesn’t worry about me anymore.” The words felt like poison on her tongue and she reached for the door. 

“Not Fynn.” Cole muttered. 

Before Maria could ask for additional information from Cole, the door creaked inward with a barely perceptible squeak. The rectangle of light fell into the bar and Maria stepped forward into the hushed room, holding her own breath. 

“Ah. The Herald.” 

She should have known it was a damn trap. She hadn’t been able to see from the plate glass window, but on the opposite end of the club a man reclined against a DJ’s stand, an elaborate mask covering his face, an expensive tailored suit clinging to his form. Between her and him there was an expansive dance floor and he took one step towards her, voice dripping arrogance. “How much of your precious spymaster’s time was devoted to finding me?” 

Beside her, Cole froze. Maria allowed herself a little mocking grin of her own. “I’m gonna be real honest. I don’t know who you are.” 

“Lies!” The man claimed, igniting his hand on fire as he stood before them. “It is no matter, you will rue the day you learned my name, Herald! The world will know not to cross…” 

He never saw the red dot on his forehead. Maria didn’t even flinch when she heard the muffled shot, one that neatly extinguished the fire in his palm and dropped him like a bag of bricks.

Maria still didn’t know his name. 

“Ewww…” A woman, narrow with pointed features and pointed ears, melted from the shadows. “Rich tits always bleed like stuck pigs, bad as the shite from their mouths. Blah, blah, blah! Obey me! Shoot me in the face!” 

The woman spun on her heel like a top careening wildly out of control, a grin made of sharp, tiny teeth stretching her lips wide. She was wearing eyeliner that was _ at least _ four days old, her blonde hair stuck up in all directions, and she wore clothing that looked like she’d scrounded it from a dumpster. The garish plaid leggings contrasted terribly with the camo combat boots and the black leather, studded jacket. The shirt she tossed on had a yellow smiley face beaming out at her and suspicious looking scorch marks. Tiny studs in her nose and dangling bits of metal in her ears caught the flickering light. 

“Well, you’re… definitely a dwarf. Look at the tits on you, yeah?” She grinned even more brightly. “So… smooshy.” 

The woman descended into cackles and a snort. Maria shot a worried look at Cole who smiled, shy and sweet, at the elf from under his blonde bangs. 

“Right.” Maria indicated the dead body on the ground. “Our spymaster _ may _ have wanted to talk to him.” 

As if summoned, Maria’s phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket as the woman blew a loud raspberry. She hit the call accept button. “Leliana, I may have to call you back.” 

“Why? Just some dick thought he was bigger than he was.” The elf paused. “Typical man, really.” 

Maria choked on a surprised laugh. Leliana’s silence on the other side sounded tense. “Herald, I…” 

“Don’t you have more people? Big burly types?” The elf shot a bewildered look at Cole. “I mean he’s… fine. I guess. Did you bring guns?” 

“Did I just hear someone ask if you had a gun?” Leliana questioned.

“Hold on, I…” Maria moved the phone away from her ear. “I didn’t think I needed a weapon for a hike across most of Val Royeaux.” 

“Where are you?” Leliana questioned, loudly. “Are you with Cassandra?” 

“Ugh, fine. Use my spare.” Without preamble, the elf tossed a weapon into the air. Maria’s heart nearly stopped and she reached out, panicked, to catch it as gently as possible with a torrent of cursing. 

Her dad would have _ shit _ himself to see someone tossing a loaded weapon around. 

“I’m not with Cassandra.” Maria put the phone back to her ear. “Listen I’ll…” 

“This is cover!” Sera gestured to the bar grandly. “Get around it, quick!” 

Andraste, how did she get herself into these situations. “Why do I need to get behind cover?” 

Cole was already moving, taking it on faith, withdrawing his switchblade from his tattered jacket. 

“Cover?” Leliana repeated suspiciously

“Cover!” The elf shouted. Maria heard something shattering in the back of the club and the sound of shouting and cursing. Without another thought, Maria knocked one bar stool off and vaulted the bartop, landing beside Cole. She pressed the phone to her ear again. 

“Leliana, I’m a bit busy…” 

“It certainly does sound like you’re occupied.” 

“Listen!” The elf jabbed her elbow pointedly into Maria’s arm, holding a long sniper type rifle loosely in the other. She had a phone in her hand and was scrolling through an app filled with photos of album covers. “I made a playlist!” 

“A playlist?” Maria repeated. 

“Yeah! And I took their pants!” The elf claimed brightly, nearly leaping over Maria to hit the club lights. Above them, a disco ball burst into a riot of color and something beeped. The woman stood and craned to look at the DJ Booth, then typed something in on the app. 

A bright, peppy pop beat burst to life from some of the highest quality speakers Maria had ever heard. The elf pumped her first into the air triumphantly, still clutching her glowing phone. Cole reached over and quickly dragged her down, just in time to miss the first volley of gunfire. 

_ Well, you’re a real tough cookie with a long history _   
_ Of breaking little hearts like the one in me _   
_ That’s okay, let’s see how you do it. _   
_ Put up your dukes, let’s get down to it. _   
_ Hit me with your best shot. _   
_ Why don’t you hit me with your best shot? _   
_ Hit me with your best shot. _ _   
Fire away. _

“Are those _ gunshots _?” Leliana asked.

“And Pat Benatar.” Maria snapped out. “Apparently.” 

“Oh Cassandra is going to murder you.”

Maria didn’t even bother answering, tossing the phone into her pocket without bothering to hang up. She glared at the elf. “Why didn’t you take their _ weapons _?”

“Because!” The elf cackled. “No pants!” 

xx

He finally caved and called Hawke right before dawn, long after he’d given up trying to track Maria through the warrens of an unfamiliar city and sitting in the miserably uncomfortable furniture in the hotel lobby waiting for her to reappear, growing steadily more concerned that she’d been swallowed up by the seedier side of Val Royeaux, or worse.

He couldn’t get the Lord Seeker’s burning hatred out of his mind, convinced himself the man would be _ thrilled _to put the small woman in front of firing squad on live TV. 

“Well.” Hawke began awkwardly after he finished his terrible, horrible confession. “You fucked up, that’s for sure.” 

“You know, that talent for stating the obvious, I’m pretty sure that’s what got you named Champion.” Varric snarked back, rubbing his forehead briskly. 

“I thought that was my stunning good looks?” Hawke deflected wryly. “Besides, we’re talking about your shortcomings today.” 

“I’m a fucking idiot.” Varric moaned. 

“This certainly wasn’t your finest moment.” Hawke agreed tenaciously. “But your chest hair _ is _ potent, so I’m not sure you’re out of the running yet.”

“I don’t want to sleep with her.” Varric started immediately. Hawke scoffed in abject disbelief. 

“Varric, the tension is so obvious Merrill is tweeting about it for the Maker’s sake.”

Temporarily, Varric was disarmed and distracted. “Please tell me Daisy’s not back on social media.” 

“Don’t worry, her username is blood witches are bad, no spaces.” 

“Oh for Andraste’s…” 

“My new one is ‘fuck the champion’, I tried to get Fenris to make his ‘currently fucking the champion’, but alas…” 

He hoped Hawke was kidding, but he wasn’t quite sure she was. “You’re all going to get caught and thrown in jail.” 

“Pft.” He could hear Hawke waving his concern away. “This isn’t about our fugitive status, this is about you and your _ obvious _ puppy eyes on the Herald. It’s not wonder Bianca is jealous.” 

“I’m going to kill her.” 

“No you’re not.” Hawke sighed, resigned. “It’s Bianca doing what Bianca _ always _ does and you’ve yet to actually do anything worse than lecture her. Sternly.” 

This time was different. This time it wasn’t _ him _ that got hurt. Maria Cadash had enough shit on her plate without Bianca’s meddling. She didn’t need his baggage on top of hers and she didn’t need him making her life harder than it already was. 

Fuck. _ Fuck _ . He couldn’t believe it. It was hard to picture _ their _ Maria Cadash as anyone’s victim. She was fierce, strong, stubborn, brilliant, passionate… But she’d been a girl once. The oldest daughter of a cop who died when she was tragically young. Varric wasn’t an idiot. He knew what happened to beautiful girls left at the mercy of a cruel world too young. They did what they had to survive or they died. That was just how life worked. 

“I could swing out to Ostwick.” Hawke offered gamely. “Fenris is looking like he’s molting from boredom and you know how vigilante justice is always just the thing to perk him up.” 

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to send Hawke to Ostwick and have her light the bastard up so that Maria would _ never _ have to worry about it again. And he knew that he _ couldn’t _ make that call for her, couldn’t force his own preference down her throat. If he did… “No. No, not unless she asks for my help.” 

Down the hall, he heard someone knocking on a door. He ignored it. 

“Do you think Dwyka killed her boyfriend and tried to frame her for it?” Hawke asked grimly. “That’s… fucked up.” 

He didn’t know. He saw the well of despair inside Maria’s soul, and he didn’t think she could continue to live in _ any _ capacity with a man that had murdered Fynn Dunhark. He thought if that had been her only choice, she’d have chosen the easy way out instead. But how well did he know her? How well did any of them know her? 

How many people knew that she had this heavy secret? How many nights had she suffered at the hands of…

He couldn’t think about it. If he thought about Dwyka touching her, hurting her, he was going to be ill. Then he was going to go to Ostwick himself and see if that bastard enjoyed a taste of his own medicine. 

“How do I make this right?” Varric asked. The pounding down the hall started again, louder. Hawke sighed. He could picture her nose wrinkling as she thought. 

“You should tell her the truth. That your ex-girlfriend, while brilliant and _ usually _ well-meaning, has a thing with the thought of you moving on so she decided to drip vitriol in your ear until you lost your damn mind _ instead _ of just calling your _ bored _ best friend to talk shit out.” 

“That would mean telling her where you’re at.” Varric pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Please. You’re more likely to put my coordinates on a billboard in Val Royeaux than tell _ anyone _ about the shitshow that is your relationship with Bianca.” Hawke dismissed. “Then you should tell the Herald you’re utterly enamoured with her, as evidenced by every newsclip I see of you two looking unbearably adorable together, and that you’re a decent guy despite your most recent fuck up. After which, you should tell her that you’re her man and that you’ll do whatever it takes to see that she’s happy and safe. _ Then _you wait for her trust you enough to realize you two should shack up.” 

“Sensible advice from the woman who danced around Broody for ten years.” Varric snapped irritably. 

“Do as I say, Varric. Not as I do.” Hawke replied serenely. The knocking down the hall took on a thunderous tone, as if someone was attempting to wake the dead. Then Varric heard an unwelcome voice. 

“Cadash! Are you there?” 

“Shit.” Varric looked at his phone, the clock reading just after the crack of dawn. Maria hadn’t come back, he hadn’t heard the elevator ding since he returned to his room just down the hall from hers. Their Seeker friend was about to discover their Herald missing, and Varric was at fault. “Shit, Hawke. Do you remember where my will is stashed on the server?” 

“I moved it.” Hawke replied flippantly. “It was giving me bad vibes. I threw it in Isabela’s ‘fun’ folder.” 

His solicitor would have to dig through terabytes of porn to find his last will and testament. Somehow, it seemed suitable. “The Seeker is looking for Maria.”

“Who would have thought they’d be so bad at finding things?” Hawke mused cheerfully. 

“I’ve gotta go.” 

“Varric.” Hawke suddenly sounded serious, somber even. “I meant it. You should tell her. Life’s short and she’s… I’ve got a good feeling about her Varric. When I see her on the TV I think… I think the world may stand a chance after all.” 

And just like that, Varric heard the line go dead. He pushed himself off his unslept in bed and staggered to the door, wrenching it open to stare down the Seeker. Cassandra was dressed casually, sweatpants and a loose shirt, running shoes on. “Maker’s ass, Seeker. Are you trying to wake the dead?” 

“The Herald… I thought she and I agreed to have breakfast.” Cassandra scowled at the door. “But she is not answering and I am…” 

Varric swallowed, hard. “She’s not there.” 

Cassandra’s angry gaze ripped itself from the door to burn a hole through him instead. “And where…” 

Almost as soon as she’d begun the sentence, he saw the direction Cassandra’s mind veered off in. He could tell by the acute red blush rising to her face and her surprised step backwards. “She is… in your…” 

“No!” Varric claimed quickly. “No, she’s not… she left last night. She hasn’t come back yet.” 

“What? Why?” Cassandra frowned, reaching for her phone. “It is not safe, I am…” 

The phone in Cassandra’s hand buzzed and for a brief second, both her and Varric stared at it like it would bite them both if they so much as moved. Cassandra snapped into action with a brisk shake of her head, answering the phone and placing it on speaker phone. “Leliana, I am going to need your…”

“Are you perhaps missing a Herald?” Leliana asked with a hard edge. Varric winced and Cassandra glared at him.

“So I’ve been informed.” She said dryly. 

“I confess, I am not entirely certain what she has stepped in this time.” Leliana sounded a bit ruffled, which didn’t soothe Varric’s nerves. “But she is in the midst of being shot at.” 

It was like being doused with icy water, but Cassandra went into immediate crisis mode. “Do you have any idea of her location?” 

“She didn’t hang up.” Leliana offered. “I’m able to use the signal to triangulate her position. I can narrow it down to about a block, you’ll have to follow the sound of gunfire and eighties music.” 

Varric didn’t even ask questions, he ducked back into his room and grabbed his shotgun from its hiding place under his bed. Cassandra had already wrenched open the door to the stairs careening down them. Varric ran after her.

If something happened to Maria now, it was his fault, and he’d never forgive himself. 

The Seeker commandeered a hotel van, fast food wrappers toppled from the door when he opened it and the bleary eyed elf who watched them take it looked like he wasn’t quite certain whether or not he’d just been robbed. Varric made a mental note to remember to, at the very least, return to the hotel and make sure the poor kid didn’t get fired. 

“If she were not the only one who could close the vortex…” Cassandra growled darkly,, taking a turn so sharply his life flashed before his eyes. “If I did not believe her sent from the Maker…” 

“Seeker, calm down before you take out a panhandler.”

“I am trying!” Cassandra exploded. “I am _ attempting _ to improve our working relationship, but she is distrustful, she is _ stubborn _, she is…” 

“She may have a good reason.” Varric reminded the Seeker, wincing when the van went out on the curb to bypass a garbage truck. 

“She trusts you! She told you she was leaving!” 

“She didn’t… shit, Seeker, it wasn’t…” Varric didn’t want to confess the terrible confrontation in the lobby, particularly not to Cassandra, and definitely not when she was looking so murderous. 

They turned on to a boulevard empty of all traffic and Cassandra slammed on the breaks, looking at the map on her phone and freezing, listening. This was it, this was the block where…

The sound of gunfire was unmistakable. Cassandra hit the gas again before pulling to slamming stop in front of a night club, one that was probably a big draw for the rich and entitled jackasses of Val Royeaux. 

Or at least it would be, if it wasn’t missing a front window and involved in a shootout. He also was fairly certain the blaring eighties power pop song wasn’t the typical soundtrack for the evening. 

Cassandra flew out of the van, with Varric rolling out as quickly as he could after her, but before either of them could move into place, they had to dodge a man falling out the shattered window, clutching his chest. 

And just like that, the only sound was the last refrains of the song, the only person he could see in the club was Maria Cadash, hair mused, lip split and swollen, covered in blood and _ mercifully _ alive, but frozen solid at the sight of both him and Cassandra. A disco ball above her head rotated and cast her in shimmering lights. 

Hit me with your best shot  
Why don't you hit me with your best shot  
_ Hit me with your best shot  
Fire away…_

He wanted to say something, anything, but before he could a tiny elf lunged from the corner, cackling madly and scooping Maria up into a hug that cracked bones. “That was great, yeah! We should do more of that! Lots more!” 

“Yeah.” Maria raised fingers to the mess of her lip, eyes torn from his to stare at her own bloody hands, shoulders hunched inward. “Yeah, sure.” 

“Is it clear?” Cassandra barked. Maria nodded her head and the Seeker climbed through the window. Varric lowered his shotgun and followed, eyes fixed firmly on Maria’s bloody lip. He wanted to reach out and touch her, trace his fingers down her jaw and ensure she didn’t break something, but even as he drew closer she pulled back, wary as a spooked cat, eyes pointed firmly at Cassandra instead. Varric got the message loud and clear, looping around her form back towards Cole behind the bar. The kid was cleaning off his blade on his pants, mumbling under his breath. 

“Why?” Cassandra asked, gesturing to the ruined club with a tone of weary, resigned exasperation.

Maria’s bitter laugh burned his ears as he slipped behind the bar, silently looking for ice for that split lip. He couldn’t bear to look at her while her hollow voice echoed. “You wouldn’t believe how much I ask myself that, Seeker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so there is still some angst. And will be for the foreseeable future.


	17. The Lies We Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria lies to herself.  
Varric lies to everyone.

"So, these Friends of Red Jenny. They are another gang…” Cassandra's voice dripped disapproval and Maria's mouth throbbed where some bastard had gotten a lucky shot in. She held ice to her lip and moved to take it away and answer the Seeker, but her new friend answered first. 

"Pft, no. Just people bein' people. Watchin' out for each other." 

"And you're this Jenny?" Cassandra asked. 

"No. She's Sera. Sera. My tongue wants to whistle on the start. Sera. But it has to stay still or the r is a d. Sera. Seda. Seda…" Cole broke into a rambling train of thought, pacing anxiously in the empty chasm between her and Varric. 

She hadn't looked at Varric when he held out the ice wrapped up neatly in a clean dish towel. In fact, if Cassandra hadn't impatiently ripped it from Varric's hand and thrust it against her face, Maria wasn't sure she would have taken his assistance. As it was, she watched him suspiciously from the corner of her eye as he tapped at his phone, spoke softly to the AI in his ear, glared up at covered security cameras. 

She couldn't look directly at him, but she couldn't ignore him either. It was like trying to ignore gravity. 

"What the fuck is…" The elf took a reflexive step from Cole who wrung his hands nervously. “Creepy over there better watch his…” 

“He isn’t creepy.” Maria cut in immediately, defensively, angling her body firmly between the elf and Cole. 

“How’d he know my name, yeah?” Sera challenged. 

“She’s loud. Light. Colors. Whirlwind. Drowning out the whispers and the whistles and…” Cole paused, eyes flicking between Varric and Maria again as quickly as pinball bouncing around an arcade machine. “This is _ wrong _.” 

“You’re tellin’ me.” Sera muttered darkly, glaring suspiciously at Cole. “It’s like his mouth doesn’t even know what he’s sayin’!” 

“Come here kid.” Varric called gently. “I could use some help. Think you can reach those wires for me?” 

“What are you doing, Varric?” Cassandra rounded on the other dwarf, granting Maria a small reprieve. 

“Erasing the security footage.” Varric answered calmly. “Unless you think it’s a great idea to have _ this _ all over the evening news. In which case…” 

“And if there is a backup in the cloud?” Cassandra demanded. 

“Seeker, _ of course _ there’s a backup in the cloud. Or there was, at any rate. Bianca’s already on it.”

“This is _ highly _illegal and…” 

Maria pressed the heel of her hand hard against her forehead. She was starting to get a migraine. Without preamble, Sera took the distraction offered by Varric and Cassandra’s incessant bickering to lean against the bar where Maria sat. “So…. you’re it, yeah? The Herald of Andraste?” 

“I’m not.” Maria argued, meeting the elf’s eyes. “People keep calling me that but I’m just the unluckiest bitch in Thedas.” 

“Weird thing, you.” Sera reclined like a lanky, mismatched cat. There was something both predatory and playful in her posture. Bea would like this one, Maria was certain. The elf was just her type, all legs with a wicked edge. “The Jenny in Ostwick can’t stop talkin’ bout you.” 

“I don’t know the Jenny in Ostwick or any of their friends.” Maria snapped impatiently. 

“That isn’t true, is it?” Sera grinned. “My friends like you. Odd, considerin’ your boyfriend is a flaming piece of shit who knocks you around.” 

And there it was, the odd, hollow sucker punch she’d been waiting for. She blinked once, twice, let it settle. Let the nausea roll in her stomach. Then, she let the towel she was holding and the ice within it fall to the bar with the same hollow sound. She shoved herself off the bar stool and fixed her eyes, unseeing, on the door. “They don’t know me.”

Nobody did, really, except Cole and Bea. It was so fucking easy for everyone else to sit and point, to whisper, to...

“Know more than you think!” Sera, obviously, wasn’t content to let her walk away. She was shouting so loud Sera and Varric both looked away from their own argument over the dubious ethics of making sure the so-called Herald didn’t get arrested. “Know Friends think you don’t eat enough, ‘specially lately. And you got kicked out of three card games! Too good, right? Winnin’ too much and the house can’t have that.” 

“It was four.” Maria glared over her shoulder. “Your friends missed one. Seeker, I want to go back to the hotel.” 

“If…” Cassandra began, but Sera interrupted her brightly. 

“My friends say not like you to be greedy. You know when to stop, make sure they let you come back, yeah?” Sera smirked. “But, friends say you hid the shortfalls in the racket. Hid ‘em as long as you could, huh? He take it from your cut in the end? Bastard.” 

“What?” Cassandra asked, looking from Sera to Maria and back again. “What in the Maker’s name…” 

“Shit.” Varric swore, his voice cut through her like a blade. “The businesses the Carta took protection money from couldn’t pay, so you paid for them and hid it from Dwyka.” 

Until that last time. Until she couldn’t and Dwyka took it out of both her cut and her flesh, then sent her to Haven to die. 

“Sweet baby Andraste.” Varric said into the heavy silence. His voice echoed, rattled.She couldn’t look at him. “Princess…” 

“Andraste and the Maker don’t do enough.” Sera rolled her eyes, interrupting Maria before she could tell Varric not to call her that, to _ never _call her that ever again. “Go to chantry, pray about your sins, ask forgiveness, go home hungry, isn’t that it? The chant doesn’t keep your belly full or your clothes clean. Doesn’t keep the kids from eatin’ the lead paint off the walls. The sisters up there in their big hats with their holier-than-thou tits.”

“Excuse me?” Cassandra sputtered indignantly, but Maria could feel Sera’s keen eyes on her shoulder blades. 

“You though… different, you. Tough, too. Carta’s gotta be tough, right? You know what it’s like down here with the little people, the people who don’t care ‘bout witches and templars and chantry. You gotta want it to end too, right? Get rid of the crack in the sky, little people get back to work, I get back to takin’ out rich tits who won’t fix the plumbing in their shitty apartments.” Sera scratched her chin with the butt of her rifle nonchalantly. “I can bring friends, you know they’ll help.” 

“What good are these friends?” Cassandra asked pointedly. 

In Ostwick, Dwyka bought a load of smack from some shady Tevinter assholes. Bea took one look at it and told him to throw it in the harbor, you couldn’t trust anything from the north. In return, Maria took a black eye that made Bea spit fire for weeks, but she’d been right about the drugs. As soon as junkies started dropping, it was obvious who was to blame. The shit was cut with something either potent or poison, it didn’t matter really. The end effect was the same. Dwyka didn’t care at first. He still got paid. 

Until Red Jenny traced the source of the bad drugs. Then, everything that could go wrong went wrong. Cops got tipped to their most lucrative drop points, one of their lyrium shipments sunk into the harbor, a bunch of their dealers got arrested, and finally Maria herself got picked up in a bar brawl she was still ninety percent sure was a setup and was out of commission for weeks because her paperwork got lost. While she languished, Dwyka was suddenly faced with all the shit Maria herself usually did. Protection money went unclaimed, smugglers went unpaid, and Dwyka finally had to get his ass in gear and figure out _ who _ was out to get him. They only ever found out one name, not a real one, but an appropriately dramatic one. Red Jenny.

She, or he, wasn’t satisfied until Dwyka personally paid the funeral expenses of every last person and the rest of the drugs sunk into the harbor _ exactly _where Bea and Maria wanted them in the first place.

“Ask your Herald what happened in Ostwick. She knows.” Sera was smirking and Maria wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. She’d had a _ damn _ good laugh at Dwyka while she’d been locked up watching his ill-gotten empire fall apart. It had been the highlight of her year. 

Still, she’d always wondered… “Did your friends set me up for that brawl?” 

Sera had the presence of mind to look slightly abashed. “Like a mini-vacay, right?”

It almost had been, just like this was. But all things must end. “She should come with us, Seeker. If you don’t take her, she’s gonna end up in jail and so am I for this… shit show.” 

Cassandra looked like she would argue, but instead she let her shoulders slump in defeat and shook her head. “As you wish. Come then.” 

Sera whooped and dodged underneath the bar, pulling bags out from under it and chattering wildly while Cassandra surveyed her with a mixture of distrust and aggravation. 

“We don’t deserve you, Maria Cadash.”

She flinched at Varric’s voice closer than she expected it to be, he’d moved to her side almost as silently as Cole could. She tucked her hands into the pockets in her coat with her ill-gotten weapon immediately, ducked her head. He was right. They didn’t deserve to be saddled with her and the trainwreck that was her life.

“Yeah, well, I’m what you’ve got. I guess.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean it whatever way you just took it.” Varric reached out like he may touch her, his hand faltering in the loaded space between them and falling uselessly back to his side. 

It had been easy, before. That night, in the snow, his book like a living thing in her hands and his rakish smile while he spun stories out of thin air like Solas summoned magic.

She thought he was going to kiss her that night. She’d _ wanted _ him to in a way she hadn’t wanted to be kissed in a long, long time. It would have been a good kiss, the kind they wrote poetry about, the kind that people applauded in movies. 

This wasn’t a movie. This wasn’t poetry. This was blood and monsters. She didn’t deserve a fairy tale kiss in the starlight. That was for other women, women with clean hands and unblemished souls. 

“No.” Cole whispered in horror. “No, no, no, no. You’re _ both _ wrong. How… how are you both _ so _ wrong?”

“We’re going.” Cassandra snapped, ending the fraught moment. Maria turned blindly towards the sound of her voice, unable to meet Varric’s eyes as she left him behind. 

  


_ "Someone! Help me!" _

_ Maria reached for a gun she didn't have while she whirled to stare at the long, dark hallway. Someone was screaming far away, begging for help, but nobody was coming. Nobody was there except for her. _

_ She took a step forward. Something terrible rumbled in the distance, a laugh that made all the hair on her skin stand up straight. She kept walking, placed one hand on the door to shove it open with all her might and… _

_ "You afraid, Cadash?" It was Dwyka's voice, Dwyka's breath on her neck, his arm sliding around her waist and pulling her back flush to his chest, but it wasn't Dwyka. _

_ It was something worse. She knew it even as Dwyka's hand covered her mouth so she couldn't scream. She watched it grow claws, listened to Dwyka's laugh become a dark, twisted thing. _

_ "You should be." The demon laughed and dug talons into her mouth and she could taste her own blood, she was drowning in it, stuck, pinned… _

"Herald?" 

Maria opened her eyes, staring out into too bright morning light. Outside the car window she saw people, movement, Inquisition soldiers. She took a deep, shuddering breath and brought her hand up to her forehead. 

It took them one long ass train ride to get to Val Royeaux, but it took them _ multiple _trains and two days to get back to Haven due to the civil war in Orlais flaring back up again. Maria seemed to spend most of that time on the phone, mostly with Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen. A few times with Dwyka when she could hide away. 

She didn't know how long she'd been asleep with her face pressed against the tinted SUV window, but there was an embarrassing amount of drool on it and Harding looked a bit worried. 

"Sorry, let you sleep as long as we could." 

"Are you well?" Solas examined her face critically. "You do not appear more rested."

"My nanna used to say dwarves didn't dream. Back when we lived in the dirt." Maria yawned and ran her fingers through her hair. "Fair trade, I'm beginning to think. I've had some _ horrible _dreams lately."

When she slept at all. Sometimes, her head hurt so damn much she couldn’t fall asleep at all. Sometimes, she was _ convinced _ she’d find demons on her eyelids. 

Solas frowned and turned stiffly in his seat. Cassandra turned the key in the ignition and inclined her head to the door. "Are you ready?" 

As she'd ever be. In all honesty, Haven was welcome after Val Royeaux. There was something welcoming about the snow capped mountains around them, the people who were all starting to look familiar. Maria nodded and reached for the door, popping it open and swinging her short legs out. From the corner of her eye, she saw the other SUV pulling to a stop. Blackwall was roaring with laughter, pounding his big fist against the steering wheel while Sera mimed a gigantic pair of breasts. Maria smiled, shook her head. Blackwall caught her eye and winked as he turned the car off. The back door was already opening and Cole stumbled out, followed on the other side by Varric. 

She looked away quickly and shoved her hands in her pockets. She turned to head up to the chantry, where she knew Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen were waiting. The rebel witches wanted to meet her, talk to her. She impressed them with her little spat with the Lord Seeker. Meanwhile, the Lord Seeker himself seemed to be quickly losing political support, and that support was skillfully being moved behind the Inquisition thanks to Josephine’s careful diplomacy. Cullen said soon, they’d have no choice but to sit down at the bargaining table too. 

But it was Leliana she was anxious to see. Leliana had an answer about _ how _ Varric knew so much about her past, but she’d asked to tell her in person after assuring her, repeatedly, that there was no immediate danger, that she did not believe anything _ beyond _ the police report and trial records had been compromised. 

Leliana didn’t ask what was so important beyond those. Maria wasn’t quite sure if it was because the woman already knew or if it was because Leliana didn’t want to push the boundaries of the fragile trust they seemed to be establishing.

“I’ve got to go see…” Maria began, looking up at Solas, but before she took one step…

“Look what the cat dragged in.” 

Maria’s head whipped back up and she stared, shocked, into eyes a perfect match for her own. Bea was at the top of the pedestrian steps and she leaned carelessly against one snow-covered railing. She was wearing a jacket so tight Maria wouldn’t be shocked if the zipper simply gave up and flopped the whole way back down, a dress with a hemline that was drawing rather scandalized looks from a flock of Chantry sisters, and black boots that went up over her knees. Her chocolate curls fell elegantly over one shoulder and her makeup, as always, was impeccable. 

She was, all at once, the best damn thing and worst thing Maria could see. “Bea?” 

Instead of answering, Bea flew down the steps and tossed her arms around Maria’s neck. It was automatic to wrap arms around her back and tug her closer, to inhale the sweet scent of vanilla and amber hanging in the air around her, the scent instantly enough to transport her home. 

“What are you doing here?” Maria finally asked, the words muffled in Bea’s curls. Bea pulled away just enough to critically sweep her gaze over her with a tight frown. 

“I’m here to make sure you’re eating. Real food,” Bea clarified when Maria opened her mouth. “Not twinkies and instant ramen.” 

“Bea this is _ dangerous. _ I don’t know if you noticed the giant hole of death over there, but…” 

“Of course it’s dangerous. And _ of course _ you’re right in the middle of it. You’re bleedin’ cursed and Nanna is _ rolling _ in her grave right now, you watch. If I’m not here to get you to bolt at the first chance…” 

“How did you get here?” Maria could shake her. Only Bea would think it was a good idea to traipse, by herself, through a war zone and…

“My good looks.” Bea winked and inclined her head up the stairs. “Well, and a _ very _ large qunari.” 

Maria followed Bea’s gaze up the steps and couldn’t help the startled laugh that slipped from her mouth. A massive Qunari was making his way down the steps with an easy, deceptively casual gait. He had an eyepatch on, but beyond that, the three piece suit he wore belonged in the most boring of offices. Except for the garish tie, plaidweave of all things. 

“Bull!” She stepped out of Bea’s embrace and craned her neck to look up at _ the _ Iron Bull, his massive horns scraping the sky as he walked. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I’d say I can’t believe you managed to get into this mess, Boss.” Bull grumbled mildly with a spark of wicked humor in his voice. “But you always knew how to find the best kind of trouble.” 

“Who is this?” Cassandra looked utterly bewildered. For the first time in days, Maria’s grin felt genuine. 

“Seeker, this is my lawyer _ and _the man who taught me to fight.” Maria punched Bull’s arm lightly. “The Iron fucking Bull.” 

xx

_ Varric: I’ve got several nasty emails from the Inquisition’s head of intelligence. She knows you were digging and she’s extremely unhappy about it. The kind of unhappy that usually leads to murder. _   
_ Bianca: I’m sure. They wouldn’t want those records getting out now, would they? _   
_ Varric: Stop it. Stop meddling. Leave Maria Cadash alone. _   
_ Bianca: I’m not scared of an upstart religious organization, Varric. _ _   
_Varric: Do it for me then. Because I’m fucking asking you and how many things do I actually ask you for?   
_Varric: There’s nothing going on between me and Cadash, and if there was, it wouldn’t be your damn business anyway.   
__Bianca: I’m just trying to protect you.  
__Varric: Bullshit.   
__Varric: If you don’t stop, I won’t beg Nightingale on your behalf. You can clean up your own damn mess when she goes after you.   
__Bianca: I just need you to go home safe. That’s all.   
__Bianca: I’m doing this for you. For us. _

Varric may have had more unanswered emails than anyone he knew, but he made it a point to always respond to text messages as soon as he got them, at least from people he liked. Varric didn’t leave people on read.

But he hadn’t responded to Bianca, days after returning to Haven, days after he’d been dressed down by Nightingale. He didn’t know if it was because he was still furious, which he certainly was, or if it was because that one sentence was enough to break him. Bianca claiming to be working for him. For _ them _. 

It was the same reason she gave him when she married Bogdan because _ he _ had the money to fund Rogue Tech in those early days when Bianca was little more than a penniless genius and he was a smooth-talking starving author. They needed funding. Bogdan wanted a wife who could glitter in social settings. Bianca’s family didn’t have cash, but they had the right pedigree. 

Varric, meanwhile, didn’t have the right name or the appropriate amount of zeroes in his bank account. Not then. And now… 

Well, Bianca’s husband had claim to half her share in _ their _ company, a devil’s bargain if he ever saw one. Leaving him meant Bianca opened herself up to losing half of what she worked for her entire life, and she’d never risk that. Varric knew where he stood in the scheme of things. 

There was no them. There was his one-sided pining and Bianca’s protests that she’d leave Bodgan when the time was right. Until then, all he had were empty words and the sick guilt that lingered after every secret encounter in anonymous hotel rooms, the hook-ups that grew less and less frequent as Varric realized they were both getting too old for this shit. 

As Varric watched his best friend end up with someone who _ actually _ wanted to be with her, no matter the cost. Fenris, prickly ass that he was, didn’t hesitate to stay by Hawke’s side when the world blew up in their face.

_ “You’ve led me to strange places. Engaged in a hopeless battle to protect witches of all people.” _

_ Aveline and Isabela dragged another ugly ass desk in front of the door. Hawke’s fingers were remarkably steady while she wrapped a torn strip of cloth around a burn on Sunshine’s arm. Merrill was laying down spells to act as wards as fast as she could and Varric stood shoulder to shoulder with Choir Boy dividing out ammunition. All around them, he could hear screaming. Crying. People were dying of injuries they had no hope of treating. _

_ This was the end. The end of the world. _

_ “Oh I’m sure I’ll take you to stranger ones.” Hawke claimed with a sunny, lighthearted optimism that sounded only slightly forced. She patted Bethany’s cheek lightly and turned to Fenris, wiping blood stained palms on her ruined red dress. _

_ “Tempting offer.” Fenris smirked, but the expression didn’t hold up for very long. Instead, he crossed to Hawke’s side, rifle loosely gripped in his right hand, left rising up to cup Hawke’s cheek. “In case I do not get the chance to say this… meeting you was the most important thing that has ever happened to me.” _

_ Hawke opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. Her voice came out unnaturally high this time. “Fen, fuck I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I dragged you…” _

_ “Don’t.” Fenris cut her off, tucking his fingers through Hawke’s hair. “Promise me you won’t die. I can’t bear the thought of living in this world without you.” _

_ Hawke laughed, a wild reckless sound that made them all look. “Say that again? I didn’t quite catch that, but it sounded like you were admitting how much you liked me, but that couldn’t…” _

_ “Let me make it clear for you.” With a strong jerk of his arm, Hawke fell into Fenris’s chest and he pressed his lips greedily against hers. _

_ “Andraste have mercy.” Sebastian whispered. “I dinnae think I’d ever see it. Guess I owe ye that money, dwarf.” _

_ It wasn’t quite I love you, but it felt like it. The same way it wasn’t quite the end of the world, no matter how it felt. _

“I’d tell you to cheer up, but it won’t solve the main problem.” 

He’d been staring at his phone as he meandered and hadn’t realized he was walking right past the local bar, he certainly didn’t see the figure of Beatrix Cadash reclining in the alley against the wall with an unlit joint in one hand and a lighter in the other. 

Varric froze, caught off guard by Bea’s cheerful teasing voice and her vaguely unsettling words. “And what’s the main problem?” He asked carefully. Bea laughed to herself and gestured to his chest. 

“Your buttons are on strike, apparently. Probably sick of containing all that _ hair _. I know how to do some waxing if you’re interested. Free of charge.” 

He relaxed just a smidge and glared playfully into the darkness, indicating the paraphernalia in her hands. “And what _ exactly _ are you up to?” 

“It’s legal now.” Bea shrugged, raising the joint and lighter to her lips. 

“Not in Ferelden.” Varric advised, too late. The cigarette caught fire and Bea inhaled quickly, puffing it out in a startled cough. 

“What? Balls.” She looked forlornly down at the joint. “How likely are they to arrest me here?” 

Unlikely, given whose sister she was. She was _ highly _ likely to get a stern lecture from someone, though. He leaned against the corner of the alley with a shake of his head, blocking most of Bea’s form from view of passerby and looking back down at Bianca’s message on his phone. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes of cover.” 

“I expected better stamina from you.” 

Varric groaned and looked over his shoulder. “I know someone you’d hit it off with. I’ll introduce you sometime.” 

Bea grinned wickedly and brought the joint back up to her lips. “I’ll give you a hit if you want.” 

“With the spiraling death tornado above us, I’d prefer to stay clear headed. Ask me after your sister saves the world.” Varric swallowed hard, kept his voice carefully neutral while he turned his face away again. “How’s she doing?”

“Funny that.” Bea drawled. “I was going to ask _ you _ , but there’s been a suspicious absence of your name the past few days and you’re never around her. Weird, since it seemed like you were _ always _ around before I got here. Did a little thing like me scare you off?”

“Hardly.” Varric deflected. “Everyone’s been busy arranging this summit in Redcliffe. Some of us have to earn our keep.” 

“Didn’t your mama ever tell you not to play a player, Varric?” Bea purred, a light hint of laughter wafting past him with the smoke. “I know you’re lying.” 

He didn’t rise to her bait. Instead, he asked a question of his own. “You Carta too?” 

“Sometimes.” Bea didn’t seem particularly bothered by her answer. “I’ve got the ink, like Maria, but I don’t work as much as she does. Mostly because the work Dwyka wants me to do involves turning tricks and Maria would kill him first.” 

“So what do you do?” Varric asked curiously. 

“Take my clothes off while dancing. Usually for money. Sometimes for fun.” 

“I meant.” Varric couldn’t keep the long suffering sigh at bay. “For the Carta.” 

“Oh, that?” Bea laughed and blew more smoke out past Varric’s face. He was going to get a _ terrible _ contact high from this. He already had a craving for fries. “I make drugs. Party shit, mostly, for the clubs. I’m an _ ace _ at chemistry, but Dwyka only needs me when he gets his hands on the raw ingredients, which isn’t often. Usually if he buys, he buys them already mixed. Well, until that whole rotten deal with the smack anyway.”

“And how do you feel about Dwyka?” Varric asked carefully. Behind him, Bea went silent. She was quiet for so long, he almost believed she ran away. He turned to look at her and found her frowning, staring into space. 

“You didn’t answer _ my _ question.” Bea said slowly, carefully, forming the words neatly with her mouth even as the smoke curled around her. “Why’s Maria avoiding you?” 

“You should ask her.” Varric muttered. 

“I did.” Bea admitted guilelessly. “She didn’t answer.” 

“I downloaded the records. From her trial.” Varric admitted guiltily. “I read them all.” 

Bea scoffed and glared at him. “You and _ half _ the world, I’m sure. She can’t be mad at everybody that gets a bit curious….” 

Bea trailed off, thoughtful, turning her soft gray eyes on him with sudden, steely determination. “Did you believe it?” 

For a second, he had. For a second, he thought the worst and he was ashamed to look into Bea’s eyes, so much like Maria’s, and admit it. “I found out about Dwyka and I thought…” 

Bea’s face hardened immediately and she lifted her chin imperiously, turning to stub out her joint on the wall. “The good news is that you don’t fucking matter.” Bea spat out, turning on her heel and shoving past him. “And we’re _ never _ going back to Ostwick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bea Cadash is a bamf.  
Fenris and Hawke are goals.


	18. The Road to Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria gets pep talks to set her on the road to Redcliffe.  
Varric watches the actual road to Redcliffe become a bit more dicey.

Bea brought everything Maria cared about from Ostwick along with most of her own shit. She even remembered to bring the few meagre possessions Cole managed to accumulate, mainly broken toys and shiny bits of trash, in the time he’d been with them. Maria could just picture her loading down both Inquisition spies and the Iron Bull with their belongings. 

It was as if Bea never expected to return home, although she didn’t say it. Bea simply shoved her clothes alongside Maria’s, scattered her jewelry and makeup everywhere, and gently stacked up Maria’s favorite books on the end table without a word. 

Varric Tethras’s books were there. The entire series of Hard in Hightown novels and two of his earliest works. Bea teased her about getting them signed, but Maria ignored her and refused to touch them. She simply sat the Tale of the Champion on top and acted like the entire precarious tower of literature didn’t exist. 

The shoebox was harder to ignore. It was a plain, unassuming cardboard box that Bea sat beside the books. Maria couldn’t even remember the pair of shoes it originally housed. Instead, Maria had been using it as a coffin, one she hid under her bed at home. 

So, of course, she buried it under the bed in Haven too. 

She was irritated, but unsurprised, when it kept reappearing on the bedside table next to her books. She didn’t know  _ who _ exactly was responsible, Cole or Bea, but she decided to pointedly ignore it and continue to shove it back where she wanted it.

Until she couldn’t any longer. 

She just managed to escape from the Chantry, but not without hearing the final decision. Maria, apparently,  _ had _ to go to Redcliffe to talk to the witches. They wanted to negotiate with her personally, not the Inquisition, and Maria couldn’t do it. She tried to convince Cullen, Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana that this was a terrible idea, but no matter what she said they just reiterated their faith. 

Their faith in the Maker and their faith in  _ her _ . She couldn’t stand it, the weight of their expectations, the fear of failing them, the certainty that she would lead the whole world into the abyss because when didn’t she drag everyone else down with her? 

She threw their papers back in their stunned faces and left, stormed back to the house, to the bed she shared with her little sister now, with the intent of packing her bag and vanishing into thin air with Cole and Bea in tow. Instead, she was confronted with the shoebox, placed perfectly in the center of her bed like a macabre present. She nearly threw it. Instead, she collapsed on the pale, worn quilt, tugged it into her lap, and opened the lid with shaking hands for the first time in years. 

At the bottom were a bunch of folded papers. Acceptance letters and congratulations from all the universities that offered to take her, would have showered scholarships on her head, if Nanna hadn’t gotten sick. When Maria chose to stay home instead and work her fingers to the bone to try to keep them afloat she stuffed them in this bo, and when she still didn’t have enough money to pay the bills…

Well. Carta was easy money, right? She could  _ kick _ her younger self. Especially since it didn’t matter, not in the end.

Maria allowed her fingers to trace over a bracelet set with rubies. They found old Dwarven words she didn’t understand, a language nobody spoke anymore, engraved in the gold settings. A family heirloom, one so precious to Zarra Cadash that even when things were most desperate, Maria couldn’t bring herself to sell it. It was the only bit of Zarra they had left except for the gold ring Bea wore, the one with the old Cadash family sigil embossed on it. 

The bracelet was wrapped around her father’s police badge, the chain still looped through it like her dad would slip it back over his head and head out the door at any moment. They wanted to bury it with him, but Maria hadn’t been able to let it go, and Zarra allowed her to keep it. 

Instead, they buried him with roses Maria and Bea put in the casket, the bullethole in his temple so skillfully covered that Bea didn’t even know it was there. 

But Maria did, she’d never forget it. 

The metal shield, the words Ostwick Police Department and his identification number embossed on it, was still as shiny as the last day he wore it, but it couldn’t compete with the glittering diamonds beside it. 

The most expensive piece of jewelry Maria Cadash ever held, still looped on a cheap silver chain. The band itself was studded with diamonds and the crowning jewel was a large, tear shaped flawless stone that threw rainbows of light all over the inside of the box, the old letters, her father’s badge. 

She’d been frightened to wear it on her hand, told Fynn she was going to get mugged, so she wore it on the chain instead. Under her shirt, near her heart. Instead of the glitzy diamond, they both wore plain platinum bands with their wedding date etched on the inside. 

The only people who attended had been Bea and Bull. Then they’d run, away from the Carta. Away from Ostwick. Away from Fynn’s family. 

Not far enough, though. What was it Nanna used to say? You couldn’t outrun your problems. They always caught up to you in the end.

Bull managed to get Fynn’s ring back from his family in exchange for allowing them to wipe all mentions of their marriage from the court records. He hadn’t liked it, but Maria didn’t care. The ring was more important, although he should have been buried with it, he’d have wanted to take it with him. 

Instead, his ring was looped on the silver chain as well, on the right side of the engagement ring. Maria wore hers for a long time after, until Dwyka threatened to take it off her and throw it in the harbor, and then she’d put hers on the chain too.

Closed the lid to the box, slid it under her bed, and didn’t open it again.

“Maria?” 

Leliana’s voice floated up the stairwell and Maria nearly dropped the chain holding the rings back into the box. There was a brief pause before Leliana called up again. “May I come upstairs?” 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Maria accused, tightening her fist around the chain reflexively, flicking her eyes to the empty stairwell. “I’ve come looking for you  _ twice. _ The only time I see you is with Cullen and Josephine.”

“That is correct.” Leliana’s voice, loud but perfectly calm and reasonable, echoed up the steps. “I wished to allow you time to spend with your sister and I hoped you would calm down after the excitement in Val Royeaux. It is no good to plan when you’re emotionally volatile.” 

“I am  _ not _ emotionally volatile.” Maria snapped. 

“Cullen would beg to disagree.” Leliana sounded like she was barely holding back laughter. “But he is the one picking up reports from all over the conference room floor while nursing a papercut on his cheek.” 

Maria nearly felt bad. Nearly. She pushed the lid back on the box and shoved it onto the table. “Come up then.” 

Leliana appeared in a moment, settling herself comfortably on the edge of the bed near Maria. She opened her mouth, but then her eyes shone, delighted. “Oh! How beautiful!” 

Maria opened her own mouth, bewildered, but Leliana pointed at the silver chain Maria hadn’t even realized was still dangling from her hand. Leliana’s eyes shone with good-natured jealousy as she tipped her head to examine the diamond engagement ring. “That is lovely. Impractical, but so elegant. It suits you.” 

“Impractical doesn’t typically suit me.” Maria commented dryly. 

“Nonsense!” Leliana exclaimed. “Impractical suits all women, truly. Did Fynn Dunhark pick it out? He had wonderful taste, no?” 

Maria couldn’t make her mouth form the words, the way she usually couldn’t when people asked about Fynn. But she could nod, so she did. Leliana’s smile softened into something gentle. 

“Your sister brought it? I cannot imagine it is something you felt safe wearing in Ostwick.” Leliana twirled her finger around, indicating she wanted Maria to turn her head. “But you can wear it now, yes? Perhaps it will be a good luck charm.” 

It hadn’t been a good luck charm. Not for her and certainly not for Fynn. Still, she was helpless to stop Leliana from skillfully plucking the chain out of her frozen hand, helpless against the weight of the rings settling over her skin as she clasped it shut. 

“We will find you a better chain. One that does them justice, but still long enough to keep them under your shirts.” Leliana dropped the necklace against her neck and Maria reached up, out of a habit not quite forgotten, to drop the rings under her collar. “I will ask Josie.” 

“I can’t go to Redcliffe.” Maria turned back to Leliana. “I can’t do what you want me to. I’m not that person.” 

“Who are you then?” Leliana folded her hands elegantly into her lap and fixed Maria with her bright inquisitive gaze. “If you are not the person we need, then who are you?” 

“I’m nobody.” The words were a reflex, automatic. “I’m nothing.” 

“You are the woman who climbed a mountain, dying, to save this town.” Leliana said simply. “You are the woman who rescued the refugees at the Crossroads.”

“I didn’t do that. I was just there.” 

“You were integral.” Leliana pointed out. “Without your willingness to do what must be done and your bravery, we would have been lost.” 

“I’m not a negotiator.” Maria argued. 

“A lie.” Leliana negated smoothly. “You are an excellent negotiator. The fact that the Ostwick Carta has not descended fully into a party of bloodthirsty criminals and remains somewhat profitable is due to you.”

“I cannot recruit…” She sputtered. 

“You have managed to convince Warden Blackwall and Sera to join us, no? In fact, the Iron Bull has put his whole team at my disposal as well for your sake.” Leliana paused. “And because we are paying him, I suppose. Although I doubt he would have offered if not for you. And Solas and Varric have only stayed because…” 

His name made her heart ache and she looked away from both Leliana and the towering books. “Varric hates me.” 

“No.” Leliana’s voice took on a hard, flat edge. “No. I suspect Varric likes you entirely more than is perhaps wise.” 

Maybe, maybe for a moment he had. There had been that near miss in the snow, before Josephine stopped him from making a drastic mistake. There were those hours in the first train while he sat next to her flirting and cajoling in equal measure. Not anymore. Not knowing what he knew now. Maria Cadash was as cancerous as the disease that took her grandmother, there was no hiding it. 

“How did he get my files?” Maria asked quietly. “You didn’t…” 

“What do you know about Bianca Davri?” Leliana questioned.

Not much. “She’s… what the founder of Rogue Tech? She’s a dwarf. They say she’s brilliant.” 

“She is.” Leliana glared pointedly at the wall. “And trouble. I will tell you what I know.” 

Maria slammed her fist into the punching bag as hard as she could, felt the impact in her knuckles, her bones, the space between her eyes and beside the thudding muscle in her chest. With the same momentum she raised her knee and jabbed it into the bag, watched the fabric compress underneath her hit. 

“You’re still putting too much weight on your heel, boss.” 

Maria put both hands out to catch the bag from swinging back and breaking her nose. She leaned her damp forehead against the shiny cloth and took a deep breath. “Bad habits are hard to break. Like spying, right?” 

Bull chuckled and moved into her field of vision, scratching the eyepatch covering his missing eye thoughtfully. “Honestly, it’s been more guarding. Do you have  _ any _ idea how many people have tried to come in and pester you? Are you starting to feel like a shark in a fishbowl yet?” 

“I can’t blame them for gawking.” Maria muttered, turning from the bag and pulling her glove off with her teeth. “I’d stare too.” 

Bull’s gleaming eyes didn’t miss a beat. He watched as she dropped her first glove to the ground, then the second. He waited until she pushed back sweat soaked hair before he spoke again. “You get it out of your system?” 

Honestly, Maria didn’t even know  _ what _ she was trying to work out inside her tangled up head anymore. Was it the fear of what Dwyka would do with both her and Bea just beyond his grasp? Was she worried about the fact they were sending  _ her _ to go negotiate with witches when she knew hardly anything about magic? Scared of failing them? Or was she furious that Varric  _ allowed _ his business partner to dig through her life before confronting her with all of it? 

Business partner, her mind supplied unhelpfully, or girlfriend? Leliana wasn’t  _ quite _ certain one way or another. There was certainly whispered rumors. Dates where they both disappeared. Nothing recent. Nothing steady. But… 

Leliana showed her photos of Bianca Davri, elegant and sparkling in a slinky black dress worth more than anything Maria owned. Her arm looped through her rich husband's, her other hand holding one of her famous phones. She looked like the kind of woman Fynn's father wanted him to marry. Maria hated her immediately on principle.

"No." Maria admitted, leaving her gloves where they landed and looping back to the bottle of lukewarm water she’d left on top of a pile of weights. 

"Wanna talk about it?" 

Maria scoffed audibly and Bull's lips twitched in familiar amusement. 

“Wanna fuck?” 

That made her laugh, just like Bull knew it would. It was one of the first things Bull ever said to her, an easy, casual offer to the barely legal teen with the too-old eyes in his gym begging him to let her fight with men twice as big as she was. He confessed later he knew she’d say no, but he wanted to watch her reaction. 

She’d been so mad that first time she’d stormed off. She came back two days later saying she’d fight him if he wanted, and kick his ass to boot, but she wouldn’t fuck him. She hadn’t  _ actually _ kicked his ass, but she’d put up a fair fight, and he agreed to teach her. 

Now he just offered to make her laugh. 

“Look, I’m just going through a rough patch.” Maria shrugged her shoulders, wiped the sweat from her brow and brought the water bottle to her lips. 

“Cause when are you not?” Bull laughed. 

Truer words had never been spoken. She gulped the water and threw the bottle back down, braced herself on the weights. Bull’s heavy hand settled on her shoulder and she didn’t buck it off. 

“You shouldn’t have brought Bea here.” She said it quietly as if worried her whisper would carry straight to Bea’s ears. “This has gotta be the most dangerous place in Thedas right now.” 

“If I didn’t bring her, boss, she would have just come on her own.” Bull hunkered down on one of the benches and put his elbows on his spread knees. Sitting, he was just about her eye-level. “You know, you could have called sooner. Not just for a lawyer. For a friend, for someone to have your back.” 

How many times had Bull said that to her over the years? She’d lost track. “I didn’t see the point. It’s not like you’re an expert in weird shit either. Besides, I’m sure Bea called the minute she knew I was alive.” 

“Before, actually.” Bull admitted. “Terrified out of her mind. You know you’re all she’s got left. I told her to cool her heels, that you’d survived lots of close calls before. Krem actually contacted that Ambassador of yours before you even woke up, soon as she spoke to your sister. Said if you needed a lawyer he was on retainer.” 

Maria laughed to herself. “Course he did. I’ll owe him a night at the club when we get back to the Free Marches. Need to call him anyway and say I finally figured out that bar brawl fiasco...” 

“Maria.” Bull began firmly. “You’re not going back to the Free Marches.” 

She shook her head and grabbed her water bottle. “Sorry. Didn’t realize you were my dad.” 

“Let me rephrase that.” Bull stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You’re going back to the Free Marches over your sister’s dead body and I, for one, wouldn’t tango with Bea Cadash when she’s made up her mind.” 

If she didn’t take care of Dwyka somehow  _ or _ go back to Ostwick, it would be over Bea’s dead body. The thought sent a shiver up her spine, one she thought Bull picked up on. 

“You’re out, Boss.” Bull waved his hand expansively. “Free. Carta can’t get to you here, not past that sexy redhead and all those soldiers. 

Yes they could, because they knew something Bull didn’t. Something Bea knew damn well too and Maria couldn’t risk…

“Tell me.” Bull commanded. “C’mon boss. You’ve been hiding this, whatever it is, from me for seven years. It’s time to come clean, take care of it, and move the fuck on.” 

Maria shook her head, mute. Bull sighed, disappointed. She hated that sound so she looked away, up at the water stained gym ceiling. She took a deep breath and focused on it. “I can’t tell you. There’s a reason.” 

“A damn good one, I hope.” Bull growled. It was the same fight they’d been having every single time they ended up in the same room for years. 

“Leliana wants to help me.” 

“Doesn’t help if you’re not gonna…” 

“I am.” Maria interrupted. “I am letting her. I’m trying to, anyway. I’m trying…”

She swallowed the emotion, stuffed it down. She was  _ fucking _ trying. “They want me to do all this shit and be this… this thing. And I’m  _ trying _ .” 

Bull was weighing her in his eyes, the same way he had all those years ago. Then he nodded, satisfied. “You know, boss, I’d half convinced myself I’d never see that little spitfire that walked into my gym all those years ago. Thought she was gone.” 

“But you still call me boss, don’t you?” Maria snapped.

“You’re still bossy.” Bull laughed, the sound warm and safe. “But I turned on the news the other day and I saw her. Just the way I remembered her, staring down someone twice her size with a look on her face like she’d eat him for breakfast. I was proud of you.” 

Bull paused, fixed his one bright eye on her. “Fynn would have been proud of you.” 

Why did everyone keep trying to pull the barely healed pieces of her heart apart? She blinked quickly, her hand raising to the chain hidden beneath her t-shirt. Bull watched her hand touch the place where it rested silently. Maria dropped her eyes to the blue mats beneath her feet. 

“You’re good, boss.” Bull stated. “We’re gonna help you. You don’t gotta do this alone. Bea’s here. I’m here. Hell, you’ve got a nice little army coming along.” 

“They’re not my army.” Maria protested. 

“Then whose army are they?” Bull asked with a wicked grin. 

xx

The wind caught a loose bit of Harding’s braid, blew it across her freckled nose and she tucked it back impatiently. She looked at her notecard, eyes flicking across it quickly. He saw her read the words back to herself before she nodded and turned back to her camera. She hit a button on her phone and waited until the light on the camera turned red. 

“This is Harding reporting from the city of Redcliffe. Best known for the tragic use of blood magic responsible for hundreds of casualties during the Ferelden Civil War and the heroic rescue by King Alistair and General Amell. King Alistair, controversially, opened Redcliffe to the rebel witches after the fall of the White Spire. Minister of the Circles, Fiona d’Montsimmard, invited the Herald of Andraste, Maria Cadash, to Redcliffe to participate in a groundbreaking summit to…” 

“She live?” A gravelly voice asked from what seemed like miles above his head. Varric squinted up at the massive qunari, dressed smartly in a pinstripe suit with a distracting tie covered in bright, flying, pink nugs. 

“Always is, Tiny. She thinks it makes her look more genuine to the masses.” Varric grinned at Harding’s back. 

“Risky, though. Never know what’s gonna happen live.” Bull grumbled, adjusting his necktie. 

“Do the socks match, Tiny?” Varric couldn’t help himself, jerking his thumb pointedly at the tie.

“And the boxers.” Bull grinned.

Varric really  _ didn’t _ need that mental picture, but he guessed it was entirely too late. “Ever hear of leaving a bit to the imagination there?” 

Bull let himself stare pointedly at Varric’s exposed chest hair and Varric laughed. “Alright, point taken. But my mother always said if you’ve got it, flaunt it.” 

“I don’t know whose chest is more impressive, yours or Boss’s.” 

Maria’s, undoubtedly. She was a work of art carved by the Maker to be an object of fantasy, ones his mind couldn’t quite keep from conjuring up. It was the writer’s curse, a  _ vivid _ imagination, and all his fantasies seemed to start with Maria Cadash tumbling into his lap half naked displaying her glorious breasts. 

“Mine, clearly.” Varric adopted a wounded expression to go with his lie. “She doesn’t have to work for hers, this look takes some serious maintenance on my part.” 

For some reason, Varric didn’t like the gleaming look in Bull’s one good eye. He felt like, somehow, he’d been caught with his pants down. 

“So, we have a small problem.” 

Both Bull and Varric turned to Maria’s voice. The road to Redcliffe, heavily barricaded, framed her. Varric could see people on the old, impressively still standing medieval walls, pacing. Cassandra stood by the first barricade involved in what looked like a rather heated discussion with the guard. 

Maria herself was dressed to impress, shoved into a business outfit as flattering at any Varric had ever seen. A blue silk shirt tucked into sleek black pants. She wore a wool peacoat, a distinct change from her preferred leather bomber, but she adopted the same posture she always did. Hands shoved deep in her pockets, legs planted solidly on the ground. Her hair twisted into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, but the wind was pulling strands from it too. 

She looked elegant, polished, and distinctly uncomfortable outside her normal clothes. Like a kid going for her first real job interview. He was about ready to dial up Josephine and demand they let her dress herself. 

“What’s the issue?” Bull asked calmly. Maria shrugged, irritated.

“They weren’t expecting us.” 

“How?” Varric asked, even though Maria hadn’t directed her gaze towards him in days, still too upset about what happened to give him the time of day, despite his attempts to apologize. 

It didn’t help Maria was as slippery as a greased nug. Every time he  _ nearly _ caught her alone, she somehow managed to disappear like mist burned away in the sunlight. It was maddening. 

But Maria did look at him with those stunning gray eyes, her irritation at her clothing or the situation finally eclipsing whatever contempt she felt for Varric. “Fuck if I know. I can’t turn on a bleedin’ news channel without hearing about how important this damn meeting is and now…” 

“It’s a ploy, Boss.” Bull frowned. “Gotta be.” 

“Well I don’t know what the fuck they want.” Maria ripped her hands from her pocket and made to run her fingers nervously through her hair. When she found it captured at her neck she swore again, biting her lip instead and running her fingers over the cuff of her coat where her arrow tattoo just showed at her wrist. 

“Well, we’re here now.” Varric started cheerfully enough. “What are they going to do, slam the door in our face?” 

“Yes.” Maria snapped, color rising to her cheeks. “That’s  _ exactly _ what they’re trying to do.” 

Well, shit. Maria ducked her head back down and pressed her fingers into her temples, hard. The wind blew again, harder, and Varric swore it carried a hint of danger in it. Some sort of electricity, like a storm about to blow through.

“Miss Cadash…” Solas must have been watching Maria like a hawk from the corner of his eye because he was there in a moment, long fingers wrapping around Maria’s shoulder gently. 

“Maria.” She blurted out in response. “I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s just my head is…” 

As she spoke, Varric watched a jewel of ruby red blood slide from her nose to her pink lips. She paused, fingers smearing it away, turning crimson themselves at the contact. 

It was just like climbing up that damn mountain to their deaths all over again. Varric reached out without thinking, taking Maria’s other shoulder in his. “Hey, maybe you should sit down Princess.” 

“Don’t call me…” She began to bristle. 

“The veil is thin here.” Solas murmured softly, squeezing Maria’s shoulder. “It is concerning…” 

“Yes.” Cole spoke clearly from behind all of them. “It’s thin. There are holes. The blood tore it and the witch with the crownless king couldn’t stitch it back together.” 

“Look alert!” Blackwall called. “Something’s happening! Seeker!” 

They all turned to Blackwall dragging an obviously shocked Sera from pavement shattering beneath their feet. Varric watched one of their SUVs tilt precipitously, half falling into the spreading cracks. Smoke was rising from within them, as if they led to hell at the center of the world. 

Varric wished he was surprised when the skeletal hands burst from them, but he really wasn’t. 

“Shit…” Bull mumbled. “This is why you don’t do live newscasts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARE YOU GUYS READY FOR DORIAN?! BECAUSE I AM!


	19. The Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric finds a less-than-ideal time to apologize.   
Maria wishes she paid more attention to Tevinter politics.

The cracks spread like a mirror shattering. Except, in this case, the mirror was the very fabric of reality. Varric pulled Maria closer to him without thinking so she didn’t risk falling into the crack opening near her feet. Her sharp eyes locked over his shoulder and he felt her arm move into the waistband of her pants, but he was too focused on the sight of the cracks spreading over her shoulder to pay attention to whatever the hell was going on behind him. 

So the crack of the gun going off under his arm startled him, made him pull away and look down. He half expected to see a smoking bullethole in his own abdomen with blood pouring out of his gut. 

Instead, he saw Maria’s arm holding her gun at his hip, the tip still smoking. He turned just in time to watch one of the wraiths fall backwards with a sparking hole in the stretched, grotesque skin of its forehead. It’s grimy hands were still reaching for his back even as it fell. 

His own fingers dug tighter into the flesh at Maria’s waist, clutching the silk fabric there enough to pull it from where it was tucked into her pants. Her stormy eyes flicked up to his, fierce, determined, and just a little proud.

Well she had every right to brag about an aim like that. "You're a hell of a shot, beautiful." 

Instantly, her eyes turned cautious, suspicious. She pulled away and Varric watched as she spun, his mind putting her in slow motion, the way her hair caught the light, the way she raised the gun up in her hands again as she took three sure, leisurely steps forward even as the chaos seemed to pick up speed outside their little bubble.

“I am observing unusual phenomenon.” The AI chirped in his ear. Varric watched his own hand slowly slide through the air to touch the earpiece. Felt his own mouth form the words. “What…?” 

“I am receiving conflicting readings for the amount of time passing from your personal devices, satellites, and the server. Your devices are falling significantly behind…” 

Oh that did not sound good. He wasn’t just observing his life in movie-style slow motion. He was living it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t even one of the  _ good _ moments, the kind he could stand to stretch out. 

And it wasn’t just him. 

“Seeker!” He yelled, watching a demon strike out and toss Blackwall against one of the other SUVs. “Cleanse the magic! NOW!” 

“It is distorting time!” Solas yelled, the words elongated, the syllables dragging in the air. Varric watched with growing horror as Maria barely dodged a creature’s grasping sharp talons as she tried to aim…

Solas and Cassandra both made their move at the same damn time. He felt the full force of Solas’s magic to dispel the shit slam into the wall of the Seeker’s cleanse. It centered the world, made it all snap back. Just in time for Maria to blow the face off the demon with dripping teeth way too close to her. The creature fell with a screech. 

“Where it began!” Solas directed, slicing his jawbone through the air and sending a wave of magic that sliced a wraith clean in two. “Near Blackwall! Try stopping it there!” 

“Shit! Shit shit shit!” Sera swung her rifle over her shoulder and whacked one of the menacing demons in the face with the butt of it. Just in time for Cole to materialize out of nowhere and shove a switchblade into the back of its neck. 

Varric finished it off with a shotgun blast as Bull charged past him into the melee. “What the fuck are you doing?” He yelled at the man’s broad back. 

The Qunari didn’t deign to answer. Varric was left with little choice but to watch the mountain of a man clothesline one demon with a massive arm. A blast of magic froze another creature closing in on him and Varric took the opportunity to start issuing directives to Bianca.

“Bianca sweetheart, tell me that gate into the city is hooked up to their network.” 

“Yes. They are using standard WPA3 encryption.” Bianca answered quickly. “Even with magical disruptions, the gate is secure.” 

“I want it open.” Varric ordered. “Now. Five minutes ago, if possible.” 

“I would say distorting time itself is impossible, but evidence has been provided to the contrary.” Bianca sounded absolutely delighted by the idea. “The Champion will wish to look at the data.” 

“Send it to her and get the damn gate open, baby.” Varric dodged a blast of blue fire that managed to both freeze and burn one of the barricades. He’d worry about what both Biancas and Hawke could get up to with that data once the imminent risk to his chest hair had passed. “Preferably  _ before _ any of our team takes permanent damage.” 

“I am capable of completing more than one task at a time.” 

Sassed. He was getting sassed by his own damn AI. Proof, if he needed more of it, that the computer spent too much time with Hawke. 

He sent one shotgun shell into another creature crowding the Seeker, sending it dissolving into smoke and ash. Just as it vanished, he saw something that turned his blood cold. 

A creature, the largest of the ones that had come through, threw its head back to the sky and let out a long, shattering screech. Its gaping maw then turned a bizarre, frightening smile down at the small figure it held dangling in its grasp by one black wool covered arm. Maria’s red hair had come almost all undone, a flag waving brightly in the wind. While he watched, she twisted to try and jab it in the skeletal ribcage, but if the demon felt her struggles, it didn’t show it. 

He was too far away to aim his shotgun with any real accuracy, and even if he wasn’t, Varric didn’t know if he was a good enough shot to make sure he didn’t accidentally shoot Maria Cadash. The demon wrenched Maria up by it’s vicious grip on her wrist and Maria screamed, the sound slicing through everything else. Varric lifted his shotgun to try and take the shot, to do something… 

“Hey asshole! Try picking on someone your own size!” 

Varric never thought he’d see the day someone punched a demon in the face, but the Iron Bull reared back and his fist landed squarely against the demon’s jaw. The force of the blow sent it reeling backward and Maria dropped to the pavement with an audible thud Varric saw her catch her weight on her right wrist, which buckled immediately with a broken off screech of her own. Even as she grimaced, she slammed her other open palm down on the crack. 

Varric felt the magic in his teeth like a high pitched sound, a drill bit at the dentist, before he heard the audible crack of the worlds separating. The remaining demons vaporized into thin air just in time for Bianca to chime in. “The gate is open and I have taken control of all security systems in Redcliffe.” 

“Atta girl.” He didn’t even know who we was talking to, the computer or Maria. The cracks in the pavement remained, but they’d stopped smoking. Their Herald rolled onto her back and threw her left hand quickly over her eyes. Varric threw his shotgun over his shoulder and began to pick his way across the damaged pavement towards her.

Bull let out a mighty whoop, grinning madly. “Yeah! Did you see that boss? Who just punched a demon in the face?” 

“You did.” Maria muttered from beneath her hand, answer barely audible even as he stopped beside her. “ _ And  _ you called me small.” 

“Truth hurts sometimes, boss.” Bull thrust out his arm with another beaming grin. “Up and at ‘em.” 

“I’ll stay here for a moment.” Maria whispered dryly. “Thanks.” 

Bull frowned and cast his eyes down at Varric, but it was Solas who answered as he shoved in between the two of them to kneel next to Maria. “She expends much of herself on each crack. I would prefer she not move more than necessary. Mister Tethras, if you could help her sit…” 

“That was AWESOME!” 

Harding’s joyful exclamation caused all of them to look, except Maria, who simply groaned out one question. “Was she recording or live?”

“Live the whole time.” Varric couldn’t quite hide his amusement. “I can check and see how many views we had.” 

“Bea is gonna be so pissed.” Maria’s voice cracked. “I told her this was safe.” 

“It was supposed to be.” Cassandra’s voice snapped, stopping to tower over Maria and Solas. “Are you well?” 

“Peachy.” Maria muttered. 

“Varric, I need her up.” Solas ordered again, withdrawing a thermos from his bag. “I have made a tincture to assist in staving off the most serious side effects, but she will need to drink it.”

“What are the serious side effects?” Bull asked, uncrossing his arms and furrowing his brow. 

“Unconsciousness.” Cassandra glared. “Which we do not have time for today.” 

“Shite. Piss and… those were demons!” Sera was freaking out. Completely normal, Varric thought, but Cassandra threw a concerned look over her shoulder. 

“I need to ensure the safety of Blackwall, Sera, and Cole.” She grumbled. “Will the Herald…?” 

“We have her, Seeker.” Varric knelt and slowly, gently, slipped his arm between Maria’s back and the concrete. Her muscles stiffened under his fingers, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he gently pushed her up. 

Her sharp intake of breath made him stop, instantly concerned. Solas said something in Elven under his breath, Varric had spent enough time with Daisy to recognize a curse when he heard one. But it was Bull that hunkered down, his pants stretching to their limit so that Varric was a bit concerned he was about to get an eyeful of those nug-print boxers. “I thought I heard something snap, boss.” 

“Wrist.” Maria didn’t open her eyes. “Right one.” 

Varric slipped behind her, let her rest against half his chest while his arm curled around her. She held herself tense against him even as Varric gently took hold of her arm to steady it. Solas pressed the thermos into her left hand and held it still while he uncapped it until Maria’s hand gripped it securely. 

“Drink at least half of that.” Solas directed. “And I will see what I can do for the wrist. I am no healer, but if it is a simple fracture…” 

Maria pulled the thermos to her nose and then coughed, eyes fluttering open to inspect it skeptically. “This smells like ashes and sunscreen.” 

“I fear it tastes even worse.” Solas murmured, gently rolling up Maria’s sleeves. 

“Charming.” Maria closed her eyes and and tipped the liquid into her mouth. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. With her eyes closed, she didn’t see a similar expression cross Solas’s face as he traced his long fingers over her swollen wrist. 

“This has been broken previously.” Solas’s voice was devoid of emotion, a careful professional mask. “More than once.” 

Maria nearly choked on the liquid she swallowed. She managed to get her expression back under control by the time she opened those eyes again. “Yeah. A couple times.” 

“It was not allowed to heal properly.” Solas stated neutrally, meeting her eyes calmly until Maria looked away, eying Bull’s loafers like they were the most interesting thing in the world. 

Maria’s voice was carefully flippant. “Nor, to be completely honest, was it taken care of in a hospital. Wait until you see how fucked up my back is.” 

“I can mend this fracture, but it is a weak point. You should ask the Seeker for a brace.” Solas advised. With Maria looking away, Solas didn’t care to hide the fire in his gaze despite the soothing quality of his voice. When he dropped his attention back to the wrist, Varric knew without any other words what Solas thought. 

_ Someone _ had been repeatedly breaking that wrist. 

Before Maria could say anything else, something began to vibrate loudly in her coat. Maria sighed wearily around another sip of the substance in the thermos, eyes closing in defeat. “That’s Bea.” 

“Here.” Bull deftly reached his large hands into the small pocket of the coat and pulled out the phone. He confirmed the caller ID and slid to accept the call, standing tall. “Hey little B. How’s it going?” 

Varric could hear Bea’s swearing the whole way back on the ground. Bull pulled the phone from his ear calmly and walked several paces away. Solas’s fingers were glowing and seeping warm light into Maria’s skin. And slowly, without her consciously being aware of it, Maria was relaxing back against his chest. A side effect of magical healing, one Varric knew very well. He’d gotten some of the best sleep of his life after Anders fixed him up.

“Keep drinking.” Solas ordered grimly while he continued to heal. The light was dimming and Solas probed the skin gingerly. 

“I’d rather pass out.” Maria joked. In spite of himself, Varric snorted. 

“Solas!” Cassandra called and the elf looked up, eyes fixed on the scene farther away. “Blackwall may have a concussion.” 

Solas hesitated, looking back down at the pale skin of Maria’s delicate wrist. It looked good as new, but Maria still kept her eyes closed as if she couldn’t bear the light and colors of the world around them. 

“Go take care of him.” Maria ordered, choking on another swallow of the mixture in the thermos and making a face. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“I will hold you to that, Miss Cadash.” Solas smiled sadly, tapping her wrist gently. “Be careful with this for the next few days.” 

Solas shot him a stern look as he rose, one that clearly said that if Maria Cadash was left unattended for a moment, Varric would be facing his own mortality at the hands of one bald, pissed off, Elven witch. 

Varric had no intention of leaving Maria alone, but honestly, it wasn’t like he didn’t expect to meet his eventual doom because of a witch at some point in time. He’d made peace with that at Hawke’s side years ago. 

“You should help them.” 

Maria held the thermos so tightly in her left hand he was shocked it didn’t groan and collapse under the pressure. She kept her right hand completely still as if not quite trusting that it had healed, the pain too recent to be forgotten. Varric was still holding it steady, but he slowly withdrew his hand and placed his palm on the pavement close to hers. 

“I am.” Varric adopted a wounded tone. “I’m  _ extremely _ helpful, ask the Seeker. And the most helpful thing I can do now is keep you from passing out.” 

“I don’t need a damn babysitter.” 

“Nobody says you do.” Varric soothed while she take another gulp of the foul concoction. Varric could smell it now and he had to admit, she’d been on the nose with her assessment of sunscreen and ash. 

It wasn’t the right time by a long shot, but if he waited for another opportunity they may all be dead before it appeared. “I need to apologize anyway. I’m typically shit at it, but let me give it a shot at least.” 

“Tethras…” Her tone was loaded with warning. Varric ignored it and hoped for the best. 

“I fucked up.” An underwhelming start if he ever heard one. “I dug through all your records and I construed the absolute worst, despite  _ actually _ getting to know you and… shit, Princess.” Varric stumbled to a stop, almost at a loss for words. “You don’t owe me or anyone else your story. Author’s curiosity is only so much of an excuse.” 

“You didn’t pull them.” She didn’t turn to look at him or open her eyes, but if she had he knew she’d see the guilt swirling in his features. Her voice was hard as steel. “You didn’t hack into the system and grab my records.” 

“I read them.” He admitted quietly, weakly. He read them because he was a weak man. He was weak and…

“Do you think I murdered him?” Maria asked quietly, her voice barely a whisper. Her muscles were tense again against his chest again, her wrist held so painstakingly carefully still to her side…

Because she was used to it being broken. She was used to it not being able to heal. Varric didn’t want to think about someone else’s hands around the delicate bones Solas handled with such care. He didn’t want to picture how a man could snap those thin bones with a little brute strength and creativity. 

“If I would have been thinking clearly…” If he had fucking called Hawke, if he had stopped to think… “I would never have believed it for a second.” 

The tension didn’t quite bleed out of her, that would be too much to hope for. But Varric damn well hadn’t actually asked for her forgiveness. He was reluctant to ask for anything when the world was going to demand so very much from her without offering anything in return.

“Okay.” Maria said softly. 

“Okay.” Varric repeated in a sigh. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it would do. 

“Do you think they’ll just let me go home now?” Maria asked grimly, changing the subject deftly. 

“Unlikely.” Varric jerked his head toward the city gates where a crowd of stunned witches and city police stood, shellshocked. “Gate’s open.” 

“Bold move considering there was a shit ton of demons. Were they coming to rescue us?” Maria took another gulp of the terrible potion and wrinkled her nose. 

“Negative. I hacked the gates so we’d have somewhere to go to outrun said demons.” Varric felt the tremor of laughter run up Maria’s back and she very nearly spat up the concoction slowly bringing color back to her cheeks. She whipped her head around, eyes open, and glared playfully.

“Well if that was a fucking option, Varric, why didn’t we do that in the first place? Did you just want to see if Cassandra could force her way in?” 

Before he could retort, the AI in his ear chirped. “Chatter in Redcliffe’s network has revealed information of note.” 

Varric held up one finger to Maria. “What’s up, baby?” 

Darkness flashed over Maria’s face too quickly for him to comprehend or make sense of it. She turned away as Bianca continued her report.

“The witches are anxious about the possibility of an alliance with Tevinter, Varric. Should I follow proper protocol and alert Fe…” 

“No!” Varric began hastily. The proper protocol, whenever  _ any _ of them were around  _ anything _ smacking of Tevinter was to send a quick note to Fenris. A heads up for the person most likely to be concerned about said Tevinter presence. Varric didn’t need Broody showing up here at a politically sensitive time feeling stabby. “No, we’ll handle the Tevinter thing without outside assistance. Thanks.” 

Maria sighed wearily and sat the thermos down, rubbing her forehead with her left hand. “What Tevinter thing?” She groaned. 

xx 

Maria’s knowledge of Tevinter was pulled from her patchwork education, most of it way outdated, half of it for sure based on wild rumors. She knew some of the lyrium she smuggled through Ostwick went up north, but she never did. The names she saw and heard were simply foreign background noise. 

She maybe should have been paying more attention, but it wasn’t like she ever could have predicted landing smack dab in a civil war with Tevinter looming on the edges. 

“I don’t know anything about Tevinter.” She hissed from her spot between Cassandra and Bull. “How am I supposed to fake this?” 

“It is a land of vice and blood witches.” Cassandra couldn’t look more furious. Maria was just waiting for her to pull her gun out and start threatening everyone looking at them with odd mixture of hope and fear on their faces. “That is all you need to know.” 

Maria cast a despairing look up at Bull who simply shrugged. Somebody, thankfully, had decided Bull should be armed if he was to be the self-proclaimed bodyguard he’d declared himself to be. His assault rifle was bigger than she was, but he wore it so casually it was like a part of him, another arm. “All I know is if you shoot ‘em, Vint witches bleed just like everyone else.” 

“They’re so angry at you.” Cole whispered, touching her elbow. When Maria looked back Cole indicated some dark looking foreigners lounging next to a deli. “I don’t know why.” 

“I seem to have that effect on people lately.” Maria muttered. 

“I see we leave ‘em, yeah? They made their beds.” Sera had her arms crossed under her narrow chest and she glared at a group of civilians pointedly. 

“No!” Cole whispered, horrified. “They need your help.” 

“This isn’t making any sense.” Varric tapped angrily at his phone screen and glared at it suspiciously. 

Maria wanted to point out that nothing ever made sense anymore, but Varric turned the phone towards her before she could. “Look. See, I’ve got records of communications from inside and outside of Redcliffe. Do you see how all our communications are listed going into Redcliffe? All of Ruffles’s emails, phone calls…” 

It was a truly impressive amount. Did the ambassador ever actually sleep? She nodded and Varric swiped his thumb across the screen, bringing up another one. “This is communication Redcliffe shows  _ actually _ coming in and going out. Nothing. Nothing for a whole bunch of dates, like… shit, like  _ nothing _ happened at all on those days. Not just with us but with any communications.” 

“So they wiped their records?” Cassandra asked. 

“That’s the thing, why wipe their internal records? Who did they think was gonna look?” Varric mused thoughtfully. 

“You?” Maria stated obviously. Varric shot her a rakish grin, one that went right to her empty stomach like a shot of whiskey.  _ Damn  _ him to the void in back, it wasn’t fair. She  _ wanted _ to stay angry at him. Angry was safe, fury was easy. This…

This wasn’t safe. How could she trust a man who dug through her life like an open book? That allowed his maybe girlfriend to dump out the tragedy of her life for his perusal? 

“Beautiful, not many people actually know what my baby is capable of. I prefer it that way so I don’t have to deal with pesky things like…” 

“Legality?” Cassandra offered with arch disapproval. “Ethics?” 

“The Seekers.” Varric finished with a sly wink in Maria’s direction. “Although if I’d known they were all as pleasant as Cassandra here…” 

Solas had a faraway, calculating gleam in his eye. “The crack outside the city. It distorted time.” 

It certainly had felt much worse than the other cracks we have faced.”

Maria thought it felt like a living, breathing monster of its own. After she’d slammed it shut, she’d opened her eyes to find she could still see through the world to some sort of ghostly bones underneath, the gray and twisted place she’d seen while climbing up the mountain, one so real she could nearly reach out and touch it.

It made her head throb and she honestly thought she would have passed out if not for the familiar pain of her right wrist breaking, at least the fourth time she’d felt those bones shatter. The agony of it grounded her and the ass-tasting liquid Solas forced on her brought her back to reality. 

“Herald?” 

There was a small, elven woman approaching her. She looked at least middle aged, her hair graying at the temples. She also looked broken, defeated, drowning in the shapeless sweater and jeans she wore. “It is… good to be introduced to you. I am Minister Fiona, I only wish we had occasion to meet earlier.” 

“We could have.” Maria’s surly response was automatic. “Except, apparently, you were fucking with the Inquisition’s ambassador while negotiating with Tevinter.” 

Blackwall and Sera both chuckled, but the elf in front of her didn’t look amused. She drew back, a spark of life jumping to light in her eyes. “I resent the accusation. I have had no contact with your Inquisition.” 

Maria nearly called bullshit, but something stopped her. Maria thought herself a damn good card player, one of the best she knew, and she could spot a bluff or a lie a mile away.

Fiona didn’t look like she was lying and  _ that _ was troubling. 

“We were in a perilous situation. The templars will attack any day now and I have children, the old, the ill… this is no order of soldiers such as they are. These are civilians and refugees, not demons to be feared.” Fiona declared passionately. “I do not expect you to understand our desperation, but I will not be bullied for action.” 

Maria  _ knew _ desperation. She knew the sour taste of it in her mouth, the way it turned your stomach. She swallowed and shook her head. “It’s not too late to pick a new path. There’s a hole in the damn sky and the last thing people want are magisters wandering around Southern Thedas.” 

“I… I am unsure. I think perhaps our fate is sealed.” Fiona lifted her chin imperiously. “I have been instructed to take you to Magister Alexius. Please follow me.” 

Their entire group stepped forward and Fiona held her hand out, awkward. “I… I have been instructed to bring the Herald. Alone.” 

“That is not happening.” Cassandra snapped, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring down at Fiona’s head. 

“There is simply not enough room for all of you…” Fiona cast a discreet look at Bull and looked away. Maria sighed. 

“Fine.” She looked at Cassandra. “Not all of us, but you should come. Varric and Solas too.” 

“I’ll wait outside this place boss.” Bull offered. “Keep an eye on things.” 

“Keep Cole with you?” Maria asked. Bull nodded and Blackwall bent down to whisper in her ear. 

“Sera and I will take a look around. See what we can find out.” 

“Thank you.” Maria nodded at Sera’s jaunty wink before she linked arms with Blackwall and dragged him off. Maria turned back to Fiona. “Lead the way.” 

Fiona led them into a comfortable, but eerily quiet hotel. Maria looked around the, thankfully less opulently Orelsian, lobby and Maria looked around. “Do you have people staying here?” 

“We did. Children and non-combatants, mostly.” Fiona clenched her hands tightly into fists as she walked. 

“Not anymore?” Maria asked suspiciously. 

“The Magister required the space.” 

“The Magister requires a swift kick in the ass.” Varric mumbled. Maria agreed completely. Even Cassandra made a small noise of approval. Fiona opened the door to a small conference room and gestured them in before closing the door with a murmured promise to return with the Magister. Varric slipped past her and picked a chair in the corner, near the large plate window, pulling it out and making eye contact with her. Cassandra nodded and took the other chair next to it while Solas quickly examined the window. 

“It will do as an emergency exit.” He pronounced, pulling chalk from his pocket and dashing something on the windowsill. “I will place a ward here just in case we need to escape.” 

Maria warily sat in the chair and Varric bent down low over her ear, one hand resting comfortingly between her shoulder blades. 

“I’m in the wireless network and inventorying the devices connected now. Give me ten minutes and I’ll have a good idea of how many Tevinter roaches are actually here.” 

Maria turned her head towards him, whispering into his neck and flicking her eyes up towards him. “And what they’re doing here?” 

Was it just her or did Varric’s eyes seem a little darker, a little hungrier? Maria felt her heart thud unevenly, suddenly hyper aware of the warmth of Varric’s palm on her back, the steady comforting pressure. She watched Varric swallow hard and he tipped his smile into that playful grin. One that didn’t quite hide the heat in his face. 

“For you, Princess, I’ll try my damnedest.” He promised, voice rough and smooth at the same time, like velvet rubbed the wrong way. 

Leliana certainly didn’t seem like the type of woman to be wrong about her suspicions, but Maria supposed everyone had to get it wrong once in awhile. Despite the fact Leliana felt something was going on between Bianca Davri and Varric Tethras, Varric  _ certainly _ didn’t act like someone in the midst of a long-term torrid affair with his business partner. 

But he  _ definitely _ acted like he wanted her. This little thing, her lips close to his neck, her breath on his skin, had stirred up something primal. Danger, Maria warned herself cautiously. She was in no position to take him up on any offer, no matter how tempting, and her life didn’t need to be more complicated with a man who didn’t  _ quite _ trust her. 

A smaller, younger part of her wondered what would happen if she traced the open neckline of his shirt with her fingers, how molten those eyes of his could get. How it would feel if his lips were at her neck instead… 

“If you two are quite finished…” Cassandra glared pointedly at Varric. 

_ Fucking Cassandra _ . 

Before she could vent on the woman, the door opened. Varric took his seat with an apologetic shrug. Maria straightened in her own chair and watched the man in an expensive black suit stroll in, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose, gray hair and beard trimmed neatly. 

When he saw her, his lips curled up into a smirk and Maria’s blood ran cold at the familiar, possessive expression on his face. 

_ Fuck  _ if it didn’t remind her of Dwyka. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this chapter got out of hand and Dorian didn't quite make it in.   
BUT HE'LL BE IN THE NEXT ONE PROMISE. 
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy the will-they, won't-they pining.


	20. The Ambush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the Magisters in Redcliffe make Varric twitchy.   
Maria gets invited to a strange party.

Varric Tethras  _ really  _ didn’t care for the acquisitive look playing over the Magister’s rat-like features when he swept his gaze over Maria. He cared even less for the satisfied smirk he wore, the one that belonged to a man who had everyone exactly where he wanted them. It was like every boardroom full of Dwarven Financiers he’d ever walked into. He half expected to turn and see Bianca’s stern glare telling him in not-so-many words to behave himself.

But when he turned, he was greeted with Maria’s pale face and flinty gray eyes staring down the group of witches taking seats at the opposite side of the table. A nervous Elven apprentice followed them in with wide eyes and two pitchers of water. She darted an anxious look at Fiona who pressed her lips tightly together and nodded. The girl went around the table, pouring water into the empty glasses. Varric could see her fingers shaking. The girl couldn’t be older than fourteen. 

“Now, you must be the…” 

Maria cooly held up one finger, silencing the magister and looking up into the drawn face of the elven girl with a soft smile as the girl nearly fumbled one of the glasses. “Hey… hey, let me get that.” 

Maria’s hands confidently snagged one of the pitchers from the girl’s thin fingers. The Magister’s eyes narrowed as Maria neatly poured her own water, eyes never leaving the girl’s face. She’d have been a hell of a bartender with that ability to multitask. “What’s your name?” She asked the girl.

“Lilly.” The girl whispered, eyes flitting from Maria to the door, to the Magister, to Fiona. “Lilly, ma’am.” 

“I like it.” Maria finished the first pitcher and handed it back, neatly grabbing the second while Lilly stood, shell shocked and mouth agape at the Herald. “Go find something more fun than this, Lilly. I can pour water.” 

“But…” Lilly stuttered, alarmed, but Fiona already had one hand on the girl’s shoulder, steering her from the room with an air of relief. A woman on the other side of the table with pinched features sneered into the silence before tipping her empty glass over. It clomped on the table with a thud that made the poor elven girl jump under Fiona’s arm. With a wave of her hand, the glass began to roll across the table, stopping just shy of Maria’s hand. “If you’re serving, by all means…” The woman huffed.

A few of the others snickered. Maria’s features, at first so soft and indulgent for the kid, hardened into an impenetrable mask. She smiled wickedly and pushed the glass slowly back across the table, letting it roll to a slow stop. She didn’t take the same care with the water pitcher. She twisted her right wrist sharply, the wrist Solas told her to take it easy on. Varric caught the reproachful look flash across the elf’s face. Fiona shut the door on the young girl and Maria sent the water pitcher spinning elegantly across the polished wood table. The witch on the other side flinched, but the pitcher stopped just short of splattering all over her, just a bit of liquid sploshing out over the brim. 

“If your wrist is broken…” Maria began mildly, settling back into her chair confidently. “I know a guy who could help you out.” 

Be still his beating heart. Cassandra’s lips twitched, barely smothering the amusement. Solas had to turn his head away to hide his laughing eyes. Varric couldn’t see his own expression, but he knew the thrum of desire in his own gut, the one stirred to life just moments earlier by her warm breath on his bare skin and her lips hovering over the pulse throbbing in his neck. If she so much as offered, he’d be on his knees in a heartbeat with her shapely legs over his shoulders and his mouth devouring her. 

The woman she slid the pitcher across to set her face into a steely glare, but Varric was more concerned with the older man in the center of the group, his fingers steepled as he weighed Maria a bit more carefully. “Miss Cadash, please do not feel as if we are on opposing sides.” The man began slickly, a satisfied smile playing across his lips. “We are simply coming to the aid of our enslaved brethren…” 

If Fenris were here, he’d smash the gleaming wooden table to bits.  _ Enslaved brethren _ his ass. Tevinter  _ technically _ outlawed the enslavement of elves and the poor ages ago. Technically, everyone was free to come and go as they pleased. 

In reality, the Elves of Tevinter were locked into poverty, shoved into the poorest housing, slums full of chronic health problems, environmental poisons, and exploitation. Young, good looking elves were frequently abducted and never seen again, or worse, found in basement brothels by families who thought them dead. They weren’t eligible for Tevinter citizenship due to their race and blocked from further education, from choice careers, from public benefits…

Leaving them little choice but to scrounge for scraps in the gutter. 

And, yes, Anders was  _ technically _ right when he said the elves of Thedas, in general, had a shit deal and it wasn’t because witches ruled the north. Sure, a substantial amount of them lived in poverty everywhere and it wasn’t due to magic but greed and intolerance. 

But Varric knew Fenris’s tattoos were his by choice only  _ technically _ . The experiments that created them caused untold agony and who knew how much mental baggage. Varric also knew that Fenris wandered freely by a Tevinter Magister’s side for years, the culmination of the man’s ambition to push the boundaries of magic and science. 

Varric knew blood magic was involved and he knew nobody in Tevinter had blinked an eye, even though the evidence was right in front of them. Yeah, he may have worried himself into ulcers over Daisy’s penchant for rambling midnight strolls in Kirkwall, but he never worried she’d waltz right into blood witches eager to turn her into a walking monstrosity. 

Although if she had, at least she’d have been prepared for it. 

“Out of the goodness of your heart?” Maria asked. 

“The Tevinter Imperium can always use the fresh blood…” Fiona winced at the word. Varric shot her a disgruntled look that he hoped clearly showed his thoughts on who, exactly, was responsible for this shit. “After a period of military service…” 

“You would send children?” Solas questioned harshly. “The old? What of them?” 

The Magister’s eyes were too bright, almost insane. He didn’t tear them from Maria’s face. “Everyone has to pay the price for their freedom, Miss Cadash.”

Maria’s eyes blazed with scorching heat while the Magister leaned forward smoothly. “And what price are you willing to pay to solve your problem?” 

While the man spoke, a slight young man stood and moved to the windows. Varric watched him adjust the first set of blinds, then the next, moving down closer and closer to their end of the table. He paused near the last one, closest to Maria and Solas, appeared to struggle with the strings. He staggered back and rubbed the back of his palm against his forehead as if he’d broken out into a sweat. He turned back to the table, eyes landing on Maria’s face. “Miss Cadash, may I have a bit of water?” 

It was so oddly, charmingly, polite that Varric didn’t know what to do with it. The pale young man looked down at Maria earnestly and Maria looked back, blinking once before taking her glass of water and handing it to him warily. 

“Varric?” Bianca hummed in his ear. “There are thirty two mobile devices connected to the wireless network. There are also twenty-seven unique room keys issued to this hotel at the moment. All rooms are on the uppermost…” 

Varric was half-listening to Bianca, half paying attention to the young man sipping gingerly from the glass Maria provided. The man placed the glass back down on the edge of the table and went as if to turn…

But the momentum proved to be too much and he staggered, swaying and grasping the table edge quickly, the glass knocked to the ground and shattering beneath them. Maria jumped up in a moment and the man turned, slumped into her small figure. 

Suddenly, Varric’s attention was wholly occupied by the sight of Maria’s form nearly eclipsed by the thin human witch. His breath caught in his throat and he half expected to see the silver, wicked gleam of a blade at her side before it was shoved unceremoniously between her ribs. 

Instead, his eagle eyes watched one hand glide down Maria’s right side and slip a folded piece of paper into her coat pocket, hidden from the eyes of the Magister across the room. 

“Felix!” The Magister sputtered, standing up in alarm. 

“I’m so sorry!” The kid pulled back, wide eyes guilelessly innocent. “I just felt so unwell. Did I… did I spill on your coat?” 

“It’s alright.” Maria kept her right hand on the man’s shoulder, peered up into his face with a look of touching concern. “Do you need to sit down?” 

“Herald, this meeting will have to wait.” The Magister snapped, grabbing the boy away from Maria’s grasp. “Felix, did you forget your medicine?” 

“I can’t remember…” The man protested. 

“Fiona.” The Magister snapped, slipping his arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Attend to us in our suite.” 

And, just like that, Varric watched the Tevinter witches dissipate like a flock of birds. Solas and Cassandra stared, shell shocked, after them. As soon as the door shut, though, Maria’s hand dove to her pocket.

Varric lashed out to grab her small wrist. She froze immediately, her pulse sputtering under his fingers. He gently tugged her around to face him. Her gray eyes were skittish, wary, under his fingertips her heartbeat rocketed. But the rest of her face was carefully, neutrally blank. He didn’t understand why, not until… 

Until Solas made a dismayed noise and awareness of what he was doing crashed over Varric like a pile of bricks. He dropped the recently healed wrist like it burned him and brought his other hand up to Maria’s mouth, placing one finger over her lips, ignoring that they were opening in question. “Sorry. One second, Princess.” 

She closed her mouth again and nodded, relaxing her stiff posture. Once he was certain she wasn’t going to move to rip that piece of paper out of her pocket, he spoke aloud quietly. “Bianca, what’s the surveillance look like in this room?” 

“Security cameras at the entrance aimed toward the door. This corner is unobserved. Sound is not being recorded.” Bianca chirped. Varric slid his gaze to Solas and raised an eyebrow. 

“I do not sense anything emitting a mystical signature beyond the devices the two of you are carrying.” Solas’s voice was laced with disapproval. “I would assume two phones and your glasses, Mister Tethras.” 

That sounded about right. Varric dropped his finger apologetically from Maria’s mouth with a shrug. “Sorry again, beautiful. Better safe than sorry.” 

He wanted to say more. He wanted to use his words to spin the world into a place where nobody  _ ever _ dared to hurt Maria Cadash, where she was untouchable. Create a place for her to escape, to thrive.

Create a place where he could grab her wrist and her first reaction wasn’t to wait for a blow. 

But he didn’t know how. Instead, he watched her pull the paper from her pocket and open it eagerly. Cassandra and Solas both crowded her shoulders to read it, but Varric could savor the anticipation a little while longer to give her room to breathe. 

“It says…” Maria looked up from the note, eyes sparkling with humor. “That there’s a group of people waiting to murder me in the Chantry.” 

“Nice of them to warn us of where to steer clear.” Varric sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“It actually says I should go.” Maria sounded amused, her eyes sparkling with laughter. She turned and thrust the note into his hand and Varric turned it around so he too could read it.

_ To the dwarven criminal everyone insists upon calling the Herald of Andraste -  _

_ I’m sure you won’t be surprised when I tell you that you could not be in more danger if you tried. Thankfully you do, very much, look like the type of woman who enjoys a bit of danger with her convoluted politics.  _

_ The plan was to lure you to the chantry and neatly put a bullet in your head. Waste of a perfectly good skull, honestly.  _

_ I would advise attending your assassination if you can spare the time. Never know who you may meet.  _

xx

Who was she to turn down such a politely worded invitation? Yes, Cassandra had a point when she complained about blazing in recklessly. Sure, Varric’s air of weary martyrdom wasn’t completely overdramatic (but she wasn’t going to admit it.) 

But it was the light dancing in Bull’s eye that convinced her quicker than anything else. His crooked half-smile when he looked down and said, “You sure about this boss? Could be dangerous.” 

It could be, but so was she. She shifted from foot to foot and grinned back at him. “Scared, old man?” 

“Fighting words there, Cadash.” Bull chuckled. 

“You do realize…” Varric broke in with a sigh. “You’re actually  _ not _ as big as he is, right? Just… putting it out there.” 

“What are you trying to say there, Varric?” Bull asked cheerfully. “Advising me to lay off the Orlesian sweets?” 

“That’s between you and your belt buckle there, Tiny.” Varric smirked, leaning casually against the rough brick of the old chantry. 

“Varric doesn’t want you to punch a demon.” Cole wrung his woolen cap between his fingers, head tipped thoughtfully to the side. “It’s probably a bad idea. Demons are big with sharp teeth.” 

Maria, honestly, still wasn’t entirely sure which parts of a demon  _ were _ the teeth. Instead, she shot Varric an exasperated look. “I could punch a demon if I wanted to.” 

“Princess, I wouldn’t bet against whether or not you  _ could _ .” Varric crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“But you shouldn’t.” Cole confirmed. “That is why The Iron Bull is here. He can punch demons in the face.” 

“Damn right I will.” Bull muttered with complete satisfaction.

“So what am I supposed to do, Cole?” Maria teasingly grabbed the cap out of his hands and stood on tiptoes to yank it over his unruly blonde hair. “Sit still and look pretty?” 

“But you’re beautiful moving. Talking. Smiling.” Cole paused, his fingers lightly brushing Maria’s left wrist over the little tattoo there, tracing the line of the arrow. “Laughing. Breathless on the back of a motorcycle. Moving, constantly moving, life and light and...” 

She couldn’t help it. She brushed her lips affectionately over Cole’s cheek. “You say the sweetest things.” 

Cole smiled, sweet and sappy, but he shook his head. “No. Not me. They’re not my words.” 

“Cassandra’s back.” Varric interrupted. “Shall we get this party started?” 

“Solas is around the back.” Cassandra whispered, ducking into the narrow alley where they hid. She wrinkled her nose at the grimy metal trash cans before swinging her eyes down to Maria. “There are several Tevinter agents inside. They do not appear to be expecting you, yet.”

“Do they look friendly?” Maria asked. Cassandra shrugged, scowled. 

“This could be a ruse to discredit you. Please allow them to shoot first.” She advised stiffly. “Do attempt to not get yourself killed.” 

“Seeker...” Maria shrugged out of the itchy wool coat and let it drop to the cracked concrete beneath their feet. She reached down and tugged the ridiculously delicate silk blouse from her waistband, untucking it easily. “I didn’t know you cared.” 

She wished she had a real hair tie to pull her hair back with. Josephine had stuck all sorts of pins in to hold the bun in place, but obviously it hadn’t been meant for fighting. 

“We’ve grown on her.” Varric bent to pick up the discarded coat, tossing it unceremoniously on one of the trash cans as if he read her mind. When he met her eyes he winked cheerfully. 

“Like fungus.” Cassandra retorted. 

Maria smiled, but her attention had been caught the way Bull looked from her, to Varric, back to her again. The Qunari was far too careful to reveal whatever he was thinking before he was ready, but Maria didn’t like the look of keen interest on his sharp, intelligent features. 

“Need help taking any of your other clothes off, boss?” Bull teased calmly. “I think we can find a volunteer to assist.” 

“Nope.” She didn’t rise to the bait, ignoring both men at her back. Then she stopped, the taunt wicked and delightful in her mouth, too tempting to resist. “Unless this is your way of asking to borrow my bra. I understand the need for proper support, after all.” 

She gestured to his own broad chest, the powerful and massive pectorals she knew were barely hidden under the proper button-down shirt. Bull laughed so loudly Cassandra shushed him. 

“Is this really appropriate?” Cassandra asked with a severe frown. “Is he not your lawyer?” 

“Technically.” Maria inclined her head toward the front of the chantry. “Can we go now?” 

And with one last disgruntled sigh, Cassandra relented. 

The wooden door was heavy and something about placing her palm flat against it made her stomach twist uneasily. The simple worn grain under her bare palms felt like a haunting reminder of… something. Something that remained frustratingly out of reach. Something  _ important _ , she knew it had to be important and if she could just remember… 

She remembered, instead, the words from her dream, the claws on her skin. 

_ You afraid, Cadash?  _

No, she thought stubbornly. No, she  _ wouldn’t _ be frightened. She took a deep, centering breath and shoved the door open, the creak of it swinging forward nearly loud enough to drown out her heartbeat. 

The sunlight filtered down from stained glass windows above them, scenes of blessed Andraste herself burning alive. It painted parts of the worn carpet in jewel tones. The heavy scent of incense lingered in the air. In front of her, through the little entry way they found themselves in, Maria could see the doors to the nave propped open. Pews stood in neat little rows toward an altar surrounded by a gang of people all talking softly among themselves.

She couldn’t hear much of the conversation. Something about an elder? Maria’s own last name dropped scornfully into the discussion. 

She recognized the back of one of the figures. The woman who rolled the glass toward her in the conference room. Maria frowned and looked up toward Bull. Cassandra, Varric, and Cole slipped in behind her, quietly shutting the door. 

So the voice that came from their left caused all of them to whip around, guns pointed at the woman who emerged from a niche. 

“There you are darling.” The woman sighed as if relieved, looking at a watch on her wrist and nodding to herself. Her posh accent signified wealth and privilege as surely as the tailored, sexy white dress and matching knee high boots accenting her coffee colored skin. “We feared you would be delayed.” 

The woman didn’t bother to whisper. Maria heard the conversation in the nave peter out as their group stared, agog, at the woman pulling a slim cell phone from her handbag. Cassandra lowered her handgun and glared stiffly. 

“Madam Vivienne.” The Seeker greeted cooly. “How… in character of you.” 

“Hardly!” The woman laughed. Maria heard movement in the other room as someone approached to investigate. She tore her eyes away from the woman to the more immediate threat, gun raised, as Vivienne continued. “Oh, darling, it’s been awful! I miss Val Royeaux dreadfully. I have tried to help my peers navigate this utter disaster, but they believe I am unsympathetic to the lives of the common witch.” 

The doors to the nave slammed shut without anyone being near them. Maria took a startled step backwards, right into Varric’s broad chest. He put a steadying hand on her shoulder and indicated the door with his shotgun. “Should we be concerned about that?” 

“Oh, do put that away.” Vivienne gestured to Maria’s gun with an elegantly manicured hand. “We could hardly expect you to do the work for a party  _ we _ are hosting, could we? No, no my dear. Allow Dorian to do the heavy lifting.” 

Maria did not put her gun away, mostly because she wasn’t sure  _ anything _ happening in the nave belonged to a party she wanted to be a part of. Despite the sunlight flickering through the windows above them, Maria watched the light from under the door vanish, replaced with inky darkness. Then she heard one shrill scream, one that was quickly cut off. Then another. Followed by another. 

“That doesn’t sound good.” Bull remarked grimly.

“Oh, no darling it’s fine.” Vivienne cooed. “He’s simply rendering them unconscious so we have some time to talk.” 

“He doesn’t want them to see.” Cole murmured. “Hiding. Hopeful. Hurting.” 

“Talk about what?” Cassandra asked pointedly. 

The door to the nave burst back open with an outpouring of that inky black smoke. Maria peered into it suspiciously, leaning forward…

She still wasn’t prepared for the thing that hopped through the door, a little ball of black feathers carrying a strand of pearls proudly. She thought it was a raven carrying its treasure, but she couldn’t be sure. 

“Oh, you little beast!” Vivienne scolded, reaching for her own neck irritably. “I was looking for those, drop them this instant!” 

Instead of obeying her, the creature rose into the air in a flurry of feathers, landing somewhere in the rafters. Maria heard it caw down as if it were laughing at the proud woman below. Vivienne glared, raising her finger and pointing…

“Don’t you dare.” A man stepped out of the swirling, dissipating smoke that clung to him like a lover. He gestured a ballpoint pen threateningly at Vivienne. “Unless you would like to join our friends in there.” 

Maria couldn’t help herself from staring. She took in the man’s bronze skin, sinfully full lips, dark curling hair and stylishly trimmed mustache before she allowed her gaze to drop to his dark, fashionable shirt tucked into pants just tight enough to show off the athletic form beneath. 

Politics aside, if  _ all  _ witches were this fucking handsome it was a crime to hide them away. He was the  _ most _ gorgeous man she’d ever seen. 

“Your familiar is the most ill behaved…”

“Those pearls simply were not working with that outfit. We all know it.” The man dismissed with a wry smirk, leaning casually against the wooden door frame and crossing his arms over his chest with an air of satisfaction. His eyes weren’t on Vivienne, but instead caressed Maria from her hair down to her toes. She could feel the scorch marks left in his wake. 

“Careful boss.” Bull rumbled. “The pretty ones are always trouble.” 

And, like the sun coming from behind the clouds, the man grinned. “Yes! I am rather pretty, aren’t I?” He winked devilishly down at Maria. “As are you. The camera doesn’t quite do you justice. Your mugshots, in particular, do you a disservice.”

She  _ really _ hoped the pleased flush in her skin wasn’t obvious. 

“Allow me to introduce ourselves properly.” Vivienne straightened regally. “My name is Vivienne d’Montfort. I am a first-class witch and the former cabinet minister for mysticism to Prime Minister Celene Valmont prior to this dreadful war. I have been an outspoken advocate for peace with our templar brothers, as Seeker Cassandra can tell you.” 

“And yet you are here.” Cassandra remarked stonily. 

“Well, yes. Where else would I be?” Vivienne rolled her pretty dark eyes with a bitter smile. “Although if I were not so dedicated, I would have gladly sat the whole thing out darling.” 

A politician if she ever saw one, but Cassandra seemed as relaxed as she ever was, which meant Vivienne was no threat. And Maria was much more interested in the man examining her curiously. “You sound like Teviner.” She observed. 

“Ah! They’ve said you’re rather clever.” With a flourish, the man dropped into a bow as elegant as if he were greeting the damn king of Ferelden. “I am Dorian Pavus, son of Magister Halward Pavus, a rather impressive connection if I were still in the Imperium, I assure you. Alas…” Dorian shrugged as he stood, gesturing to the old chantry. “It does me less credit here in this charming chilly wasteland.” 

“At the risk of sounding unduly suspicious…” Varric pointed to the still bodies strewn over the nave floor. “Aren’t those your people?” 

“Yes.” Dorian admitted quietly, looking over his shoulder. “Yes. They are. But my people have a large enough problem being the boogeymen of Thedas. This… this is unlikely to help our image.” 

“You’re in charge of PR for the Imperium?” Maria asked sarcastically. 

“You’re in charge of dashing heroics for the Carta, are you not?” Dorian raised an eyebrow. Maria had to concede the point. 

“Is it not odd that you arrange this summit, darling, then arrive to find all the doors slammed in your face?” Vivienne asked. 

“As if your ambassador’s hard work never happened at all!” Dorian made a gesture with his pen again. 

“Do stop waving your focus around to make a point.” Vivienne snapped irritably. “You’re going to cause a fire.” 

“It would only be an improvement on this hovel.” Dorian sniffed. “Anyway… everything up in smoke. As if part of a mysterious conspiracy to thwart you! Or…” 

“As if by magic.” 

Solas appeared silently in the nave behind Dorian, his gaze locked on the Tevinter man. He clutched his jawbone in one hand and was frowning severely. Dorian turned and glared before looking over his shoulder at Maria with an expression of immense displeasure. 

“Does the dour dramatic-moment ruining elf belong to you?” 

“He’s part of my team.” Maria defended with no small amount of amusement. 

“Lovely! If you are already used to working with witches, it will be no problem for us to join as well.” Vivienne chirped, tapping her phone. “Allow me to just make some calls, darling.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vivienne and Dorian snapping at each other - always a good time. Both of them trolling Modern!Solas? EVEN BETTER!


	21. The Ten of Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria challenges a Magister.  
Varric receives a warning from Hawke.

If Dorian, Solas, and Vivienne were right, Maria was _ extremely _ out of her element. Time travel? She couldn’t keep the skeptical expression off her face as Dorian gestured pointedly to the laptop he perched sacrilegiously on the altar while he finished his explanation. “So, as you can see, the evidence clearly shows that _ somehow _ my old mentor has managed to make my theory of time manipulation actually work. And, for some reason, chose to completely break all the rules of the universe to beat you here.” 

Maria sat on one of the pews squarely between Cole and Cassandra, so close their shoulders all touched. Vivienne vanished to make her phone calls without another word, Bull dragged unconscious Vint witches into the closet that housed the priest’s vestments, and Varric sprawled out directly behind her in an empty pew all to himself. Solas paced near Dorian like a caged wolf. 

“I have a question.” Maria began, almost feeling like she needed to raise her head. 

“Of course you do.” Dorian nodded with a weary sigh, leaning back against the altar and crossing his arms over his chest like a professor preparing to entertain lesser questions. “Very well, go ahead.” 

“What are you smoking and can I have some?” 

Varric didn’t stifle his snort of laughter, she could feel his warm gust of breath on the back of her neck. Dorian rolled his eyes skyward and muttered something. Maria sat forward, intrigued. “What was that?” She asked. 

“Venhedis!” Dorian clarified with a slap of his palm on the altar beside his expensive, but banged up, laptop with the interesting swirling patterns carved into the case. “Listen here you little heretical…” 

“Perhaps you should show some respect.” Cassandra warned darkly. 

“What does Venhedis mean?” It sounded like a swear word and there was _ nothing _ Maria liked better than the sound of foreign cursing. 

“It means I am a fool who left a rather comfortable bar in the Free Marches to race down here and be questioned by a four foot tall Dwarven madwoman while the world falls into chaos around us!” Dorian glared down his elegant nose and Maria couldn’t help beaming up into his annoyed face. 

“Tevene is a very concise language.” She complimented with a flutter of her lashes. 

“What you are describing is impossible.” Solas stopped his pacing to whirl and catch Dorian with a stony glare. “It should not have been attempted.” 

“I quite agree!” Dorian threw his hands up in the air and gestured back to his laptop. “My thesis was wholly theoretical when I wrote it. To make it work would have required mystical forces to very suddenly stop playing by the rules.” 

“Which… they did.” Varric leaned forward, resting his clasped hands on the back of the pew between Cole and Maria. “Whatever happened at the Conclave, whatever made that crack in the universe…” 

“A remarkable bit of vandalism, yes?” Dorian mused, tipping his head to the side in a way that evoked admiration of a difficult problem. 

“Vandalism?” Cassandra repeated, aghast. “Someone ripped a hole through the fabric of our world and you would call it… vandalism?” 

“Vandalism that changed everything! Including…” Dorian jabbed his pen pointedly at Maria. “You.” 

“And you think that your old professor twisted time into a giant knot just to make sure _ I _ didn’t get the witches to help the Inquisition?” Maria asked incredulously. 

“All I know is these… cultists, the Venatori. They are _ extremely _ interested in you.” Dorian frowned. “And not the sort of interest that typically works out well, I suspect.” 

“They’re angry.” Cole whispered, eyes darting rapidly from Maria’s knee to his own. “So angry. They want to hurt. Punish.” 

Maria dropped her head back on the pew with a weary sigh, staring up into Varric’s gleaming honey eyes. “I used to have normal days.” She claimed quietly into his calm, steady face.

“Sure Princess.” Varric laughed, a bit of her hair spilled over his fingers, but he didn’t move them. “You, your firecracker of a sister, and Cole dancing through Ostwick. I’m sure it was perfectly boring.” 

“Sometimes Bea made brownies and we watched people fix houses on the TV.” Cole paused, uncertain. “I’m not sure why granite is better than limestone. Or what makes a concept open.” 

“Granite really makes a kitchen shine, doesn’t it?” Dorian cast a wistful look at his surroundings as if lamenting the absence of said granite.

Maria eyed Cassandra’s profile from underneath Varric’s chin. “Well, he seems less murderous than the rest of the Tevinter contingent.”

“And only mildly, charmingly insane.” Varric chimed in.

“Plus, I think he watches HGTV.” Maria mock whispered conspiratorially. “How bad can he be?” 

Cassandra’s glare was at once both completely expected and twice as amusing as Maria thought it would be. “_ You _ watch HGTV.” 

“And I’ve yet to distort the space time continuum to kidnap a bunch of witches.” Maria claimed brightly. “You’re proving my point, Cass.” 

Cassandra sighed wearily at the same time her phone began buzzing. Maria sat up straight and met Dorian’s dark, amused eyes while Cassandra answered the call gruffly, standing and stepping away from their bench. “I don’t know if I believe I’m important enough to fuck up time for. I’m not sure if any of this makes sense.” 

“It doesn’t make sense because you haven’t spent ten years studying the intersection of quantum physics and arcane energies. You simply stumbled out of a hole in the world and made the most of it.” Dorian frowned, eyes flashing. “Which, remarkably, might actually make you _ the most _ important person in the world.” 

Before Maria could say anything else, a strangled curse came from behind her. She turned to watch Varric swatting away the little ball of fluffy feathers. The bird cawed in irritation, making to try and grab the gleaming earring from Varric’s ear one more time. 

“Some help here?” Varric sputtered, trying valiantly to protect his ear. 

“Nyx.” Dorian reprimanded mildly. “Do try not to make a spectacle of yourself.” 

The bird showed no sign of listening and Dorian shrugged. “She simply enjoys shiny objects. I assure you, she usually returns them.” 

“Your familiar is a thief?” Maria asked with a smug grin, turning halfway back to Dorian. 

“A connoisseur!” Dorian protested. “Your flashy friend there should be thrilled with the attention.” 

Varric didn’t look thrilled. Maria fought back her urge to giggle when he swatted ineffectually at the bird. Beside her, Cole neatly clambered over the pew to offer his hand to the creature. “Hello. I’m Cole.” 

Like magic, the bird landed on his open hand. Varric glared at the creature as Cole pulled it to his ear, head tipped like he was listening intently. When Cole nodded gravely, he let his eyes flit back to Varric. 

“She says it is nice to share.” He announced. Maria lost it, slipping down into her pew and covering her mouth to try and hide the laughter. Dorian’s mustache twitched rather attractively in front of her. 

“We have a problem.” Cassandra announced. Maria quickly blinked tears of mirth from her eyes. 

“I didn’t do it.” She protested weakly, still breathless from laughter. 

“The Magister has been informed that Madame Vivienne and six other witches wish to leave with you. He is coming here, to the chantry, to force you to leave Redcliffe before others join you.” Cassandra frowned tightly. “Vivienne believes he means to discover your dead body.” 

“Unfortunate for him then that I’m not dead.” As she spoke, Maria watched Dorian turn and slam his laptop closed. A bag flew into his hand from Maker knew where and he quickly shoved the computer into it. 

“I must be off then.” Dorian announced cheerfully. “I would much rather my old friends remain blissfully unaware of my presence. Don’t fear, when you’re ready to handle Alexius I will find you.” 

“They’re not going to realize you knocked them all unconscious?” Varric asked skeptically.

“Goodness no!” Dorian tapped his pen thoughtfully against his cheek. “I suppose they’ll blame the Herald.” 

“Thanks.” Maria commented dryly. 

“Don’t say I never gave you anything.” With that, Dorian swept the bag onto his shoulder and bent over double to lift her hand to his amused smile. “Miss Cadash, it has been a pleasure. May I kindly request one more thing?” 

Maria registered the unfairness of it all, because in addition to being sculpted like a classical statue, Dorian smelled _ amazing _. Like sandalwood and spice, foreign and tempting. Instead of answering, she lifted an eyebrow. 

“Do try to keep them occupied at the front for me just a few minutes?” He asked with a wink. 

“For you, I’ll try.” Maria watched Dorian’s smile grow even more and felt him press a chaste, searing kiss against her knuckles before withdrawing. 

“Until we meet again.” He promised, turning quickly. He whistled, long and low. The bird in Cole’s hand took off, landing on Dorian’s shoulder as they walked toward the shadows of the nave. As Maria watched, the dark corners seemed to stretch out towards him with grasping, desperate fingers. 

Then she blinked. And he was gone into the shadows. 

“Bull!” She shouted, leaping into action before Varric could even open his mouth. “The Vints are in the closet?” 

“All except the one you just let go ‘cause he was pretty.” Bull remarked astutely. 

“Too pretty.” Varric muttered irritably. She ignored them both and made a beeline for the door. 

She had to wait several minutes to time it perfectly. The Magister was opening the door just as she reached for the doorknob, leaving them little choice but to stand in the threshold together. From the narrow space in between the man and the door frame, Maria saw Harding’s camera flash brightly. She hoped the other dwarf was able to capture the split second shock and despair that showed on the man’s features as he stared down into her. 

“Fancy meeting you here.” Maria beamed charmingly up at him. “I thought I’d pray for some guidance, and the good health of your son. How is Felix?” 

“Well, in spite of your meddling.” The Magister spared only a moment to glance behind her as if he’d find some clue to the fate of his missing people. Instead, he was faced only with Bull, Cassandra, Varric, Solas, and Cole. 

“Meddling?” Maria repeated innocently. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” 

“I know what you are up to Herald.” The man growled low, leaning in close. Bull took a step closer, she could feel the heat radiating from his bulk. But there was also a crowd forming behind the Magister in the square, attention drawn to his elegant clothes and her bright red hair. “You think to steal my witches.” 

“I don’t think I could steal them if I wanted to.” Maria interjected smoothly. “Considering they’re not property.” 

Her words send a rustle of whispering through the crowd. She could hear them echoing back in the cold wind. Hear the distaste and fear in the other witches mouths. The Magister sneered down at her. “Get out.” He ordered. 

“Fine.” Maria tossed her red hair away from her face and sent her own gaze over the crowd. “And I’ll find room for whoever wishes to join the Inquisition.” 

The whispering roared into an inferno, people staring between her and the Magister, the man making no move to exit from her way. Maria refusing to slip past but waiting patiently instead as if she had all the time in the world. 

And, finally, the man moved. He took one step to the right and Maria walked into the weak winter sunlight with her people behind her. In the center of the square, both of them wary but Sera looking immensely more amused, the remaining two members of her team waited.

“Your… new friend, Madame Vivienne is waiting by the front gate.” Blackwall didn’t sound like he approved at all. “Maker’s balls, what a mess. What did you step in, girl?"

Time travel. Apparently. She turned to look over her shoulder, saw that the Magister had not yet moved from the Chantry steps. His eyes locked on her in spite of the crowd around her.

And Maria didn't need Cole to tell her all about his devious intentions. Maria could read them in his eyes. 

xx

Varric didn’t think Maria regretted ditching her itchy wool coat, but she couldn’t hide the shiver when the icy wind cut through the thin silk blouse and tangled red strands of hair around her face. She pushed them back impatiently and cast a forlorn look at the witches watching their little ragtag group at the gate. Varric, in spite of himself, allowed himself to hope that the rest of the witches would come to their senses and follow Vivienne and her entourage in hitching their wagon to the Inquisition.

Varric sensed in some way many of them _ wanted _ to. Maria cut a much more appealing figure than the Magister, at any rate. But the Seeker at her side caused too much concern, smacked too much of the chantry, of chains and prisons, for the witches to truly believe they had a chance with her. 

Hell, for all he knew, they didn’t. Who knew what would happen after they handled the spiraling vortex of doom problem? 

“Most of them are kids.” Maria finally swore darkly, ducking her head down. “Scared _ fucking _ kids. And we’re leaving them here.” 

“We have little choice.” Cassandra answered stiffly, gesturing for Maria to follow her outside. “We must go before this escalates and catches them in the middle.” 

Not much could have convinced Maria to move, but that did. She kicked a loose chunk of pavement and followed the Seeker outside while the rest of them bobbed like apples in her wake. The witches manning the gates barely waited for Sera’s lanky figure to stroll through before slamming them shut. Sera cheerfully gave them the middle finger over her shoulder. 

“We have additional cars en route, Herald.” Cassandra reported, shooting a beleaguered look at the wrecked SUV still half in one of the cracks. “Perhaps Madame Vivienne’s compatriots can assist with retrieving that one.” 

“With any luck, it may even start.” Blackwall grumbled. 

Maria wasn’t paying attention. She glared back at the gates behind them, eyes as bleak as a winter storm, a frown tugging her lips downwards. 

“Hey, we’ll get those kids out of this mess.” It was cold comfort, and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was true, but the sentiment was real at least. She shook her head at his words and continued to glare at the gate. 

“Somebody cursed my cairn.” Maria mumbled. “My Nanna used to say that when she had a bad feeling.” 

“Gotta love old Dwarven sayings.” Varric’s mother had a hundred of them. Before she drank herself into her own cairn, anyway. “My favorite is ‘nothing evens stature like a hit to the kneecaps.’ I used to tell Hawke that everytime she got on my nerves.” 

Maria’s face softened and she smiled to herself. “My father used to say that all the time.” 

His imagination immediately ran away with him, conjuring up a precocious child with Maria’s blood red hair and a broad-chested man in a police officer’s uniform wrapping her hands around his service revolver carefully. 

“I don’t like these gates.” Maria turned from them without another word, hitching her shoulders up against the chill. “I don’t know why, but they make my shoulders itch.” 

“The veil is thin.” Cole repeated Solas’s words. “Time is twisted. Tangled. Things bleed through that haven’t happened. That have. There’s blood and fire here, echoing, grasping.” 

“You know, you’re nearly important enough that you can demand to have them torn down.” Varric teased lightheartedly, ignoring Cole’s morbid rambling. 

Maria laughed, like he hoped she would, which had the added boost of making Cole smile. 

“Hey herald-tits!” Sera yelled cheerfully. “Watch this!” 

Before anyone could react, several projectiles flew over their heads and smashed against the gates. Varric gagged on the sulfur scent of spoiled eggs immediately. The slick, sour yolks and broken egg shells dripped down the gates.

“Maker’s ass.” Maria cursed, muffled by the sound of her hand over her mouth. “Where in the void did she get those eggs?” 

“Take that Tevinter arseholes!” Sera cheered, lobbing several more pungent grenades and letting them shatter against the stone. “Stuff it in your vinty pussies!” 

“SERA!” Cassandra snapped. Varric watched the elf shriek joyfully, dropping the empty carton and taking off down the road to the approaching SUVs with Cassandra on her heels. Sera paused only long enough to blow a raspberry at Madame Vivienne before launching herself into one of the cars. 

“Shit.” Maria swore fondly. “Cass is gonna kill her.” 

Maybe, but their Herald was smiling again, eyes less stormy, shoulders relaxed. For that, Varric would risk the Seeker’s wrath. Maria trailed away from the stinking gates and Varric pulled his phone from his pocket, intent on following her. 

But there was one blinking notification on his phone, an alert from the encrypted messaging program. He swiped to unlock the device and opened the message, eyeing the area around him cautiously. Nobody was paying attention, all distracted as Cassandra tried to rip Sera from the SUV. He let his eyes flit back to the phone screen. 

_ Hawke: plz tell me the news is wrong about magisters in redcliffe _   
_ Varric: Unfortunately, I’d recommend keeping Broody away from the news as long as possible. _   
_ Hawke: fuck. bethy and i are trying but sebastian is gonna give us away _   
_ Hawke: then we’re gonna have to listen to him bitch _   
_ Hawke: and we’ll have to stop using magic to heat up our tea and use the damn microwave instead _   
_ Varric: What’s wrong with that? _ _   
Hawke: bethy exploded a potion in it three days ago and it still smells like rotten blood lotus no matter how much bleach we use_

Varric snorted. He hadn’t missed that shit at all. He sincerely hoped Sebastian was enjoying the two witches and Fenris running amok on his territory. 

_ Hawke: quick question. i’ve got someone new who keeps showing up in my readings next to the hanged man. wanna take a guess at who it is? _

Varric frowned and cast a sidelong glance at the chaos unspooling in front of him. The witches had freed the first SUV and Blackwall had the hood up inspecting the inner workings. Maria had Sera safely ensconced in one of the SUVs and was in the middle of trying to soothe a Seeker who still had a vein throbbing in her temple. 

Varric, funnily enough, _ was _ the Hanged Man in Hawke’s deck and had been since the day he met her in the financial district of Kirkwall. An amusing coincidence, the card his own favorite bar was named after coming to represent him in Hawke’s readings. 

Hawke told him once, when she was drunk, he was the Hanged Man because he could never make up his damn mind about what he really wanted. Instead, Varric was constantly suspended between two things. The modern world and the glorious past his parents droned on about. His imagination and the crushing reality of day-to-day life. Hawke and Bartrand.

Bianca and her husband. 

_ Varric: What’s the card? _

The picture came through immediately. A figure wrapped head to toe in a cloak, recognizable as a person only by booted feet deep in the snow. A mountain rose up behind it, dark and foreboding, but the figure clutched a lamp in one hand and a walking stick in the other, striding forward determinedly. 

The Hermit. 

_ Varric: No clue, Waffles. _

It was a lie. Something about the card, the swirling snow around the figure, reminded him immediately of Maria’s slate gray eyes. Hawke saw through him in a moment. 

_ Hawke: she’s got a long way to go to get back to who she was supposed to be _ _   
_ _ Hawke: but she needs to be careful varric. you both do. _

Before Varric could ask why, Hawke sent another photo. He tapped on it irritably and enlarged it. The hermit lay face up, but another card laid across it horizontally. One that made Varric’s chest hair stand on end. A man, keeled over, with ten swords piercing his back. 

And beside both those cards, the Hanged Man reversed so that he stood upright. Crossed over this card, another depicting a horse with a man astride it, sword held aloft. A knight in shining armor. 

_ Varric: You’re shitting me.   
_ _Hawke: not this time  
_ _Hawke: i think you’re gonna save that woman varric tethras   
_ _Hawke: and hopefully get laid but i haven’t seen that in the cards yet_

“Well, that’s an impressive scowl, Varric.” 

For a Qunari, Iron Bull moved like a damn cat. Varric barely concealed the urge to jump and instead lifted his eyes from his phone disdainfully, waving it in the air in a show of false exasperation. “Have you ever had to deal with the Dwarven Financiers Union? It’s a fucking shit show.” 

“I’ve sued a couple of members.” Bull shrugged easily. He’d taken off the suit jacket and loosened his tie, adopting a more deceptively casual look. “I think they’d have sent Carta to kneecap me, but my knees are at eye level for most dwarves. Bit intimidating.” 

“Maybe I should keep you on retainer.” Varric grumbled. 

“Nah. My research shows you got a pretty good handle on it. You don’t need me.” 

Varric eyed Bull suspiciously. “Research?” 

“Little B asked me to take a look into you. Personal favor, you know. Honestly, I’ve never been good at telling the Cadash girls no and man… the way Bea moves…” Bull made a low grunt of appreciation. “If you haven’t seen her dance yet, you should. She won’t fuck you, but she’s a damn artist.” 

“In revenge.” Varric sighed, shoving his hands and phone back into his own pocket. “For digging through Maria’s life.” 

“Could have gone worse for you.” Bull stated mildly. “For a member of the most crooked union in Thedas, you’re remarkably clean. No illegal lyrium trafficking, no drug habit. You paid a lot of money to the Kirkwall gangs over the years…” 

“Price of doing business in Kirkwall, unfortunately.” Varric admitted. 

“I figured they matched the bribes you were sending to the templars. Gotta protect all those witches you were hiding. All in all, Tethras, you look like a decent guy. On paper, at least.” Bull qualified with a grin. 

“So we’re having this conversation because…” Varric prodded.

“You want to fuck the Boss.” Bull stated bluntly. “And she wants to fuck you. But you’re both dancing around each other like you’ve got a decade’s worth of baggage. Unlikely since you just met. What’s the problem?”   
Varric nearly choked on his own surprise. Qunari, he reminded himself, suffered few of the same hangups anyone else in Thedas seemed to have about sex. He coughed into his fist instead. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Tiny, but the world is ending. More important things to worry about than our fun bits, you know?” 

“Bullshit.” Bull growled. “Listen, Boss isn’t gonna make the first move here. She thinks her life is a wreck…” 

“I’m not sure she’s wrong.” Varric interjected, gesturing hopelessly back at Redcliffe. The qunari continued on like a snow plow. 

“But she’s easy enough to convince to give into temptation. The kind of woman that can’t walk past a donut more than once, you know?” Bull explained. “You make the offer, she’s not gonna turn it down. Not when you’re flashing that chest of yours in her face everyday.” 

How did Varric keep ending up in situations where the topic of choice happened to be sex even when the whole world was falling to pieces? He half expected Isabela to pop out of the ground with a lewd joke. 

“Alright, well, I’ll just go grab a bottle of wine and take her over to one of those SUVs the demons wrecked. Maybe the one with the Blackwall shaped dent in it?” Varric muttered sarcastically. 

Bull chuckled darkly. “You’re an author, aren’t you? Surely you can be a bit more creative. If I was going to fuck her, I always thought I’d find a nice hearth first with a fire crackling away. Bearskin rug, nice and toasty right by the flames. She colors up so pink and pretty when she’s warm.” 

Varric grit his teeth together and tried valiantly to ignore that image, Maria flushed and pliant while firelight painted her skin with light and shadow. “And how would you know?” Varric snapped, irritated. 

Bull’s triumphant grin let Varric know he had lost. “I taught her to fight there, Varric. Remember that.” 

With that, the Qunari began to whistle and ambled cheerfully towards the SUVs. He didn’t look back until he’d taken half a dozen steps. “You coming, dwarf? Don’t want to keep Boss waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are so many red flags in Redcliffe it's like a fucking party with all my ex's invited.


	22. The Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria spills a secret and dreams of freedom.   
Varric offers escape.

Maria didn’t know where the rubber bouncing ball came from, but she found herself immensely happy to have it after being locked in a room with Cassandra, Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana for three hours. 

“It is  _ clearly _ a trap.” Leliana snapped. 

“The Templars…” Cullen began, again. 

“I do not believe for one moment that we have brought enough political pressure to change the Lord Seeker’s mind after his abhorrent behavior in Val Royeaux.” Leliana gestured to the computer screen over her shoulder. Maria didn’t need to look to see the bottom corner was playing news footage which seemed to feature her showdown with the Lord Seeker every fifteen minutes or so in between clips of her sealing the crack outside Redcliffe, defending the Crossroads, photos of her facing down the Magister…

It was like nothing in fucking Thedas happened that didn’t involve her. That thought made her toss the ball a little harder than she needed to against the wall. It bounced right back into her hands regardless and she caught it effortlessly, continuing to stare up at the ceiling. 

She honestly wasn’t entirely sure any of them had noticed she left the table an hour beforehand to lay down on the floor, her head pillowed on her coat, the ball rhythmically being thrown and caught over and over again. 

“And the witches are insistent that the Magister is the only one who can approve an alliance. He has opened up proper channels to negotiate, but insists Miss Cadash do so in person.” Josephine dug her knuckles into her temple, staring down at her tablet.

“Also a trap.” Leliana leaned over the table, exhausted.

“There are enemies everywhere.” Cassandra glared at the papers littering the table. “I do not know which path the Maker intends us to take, but we must choose one.” 

“Can we not send a delegation to both?” Cullen asked irritably. 

“Both sides will only speak to the Herald. She can not be in two places at once.” Leliana shoved her hood down, ruffled her bright hair. “There is risk…”

“Redcliffe.” 

Maria caught the ball on the return bounce and pushed herself off the floor, turning to look at the humans crowded around the table. At her one word answer, all of them seemed to remember she was there. They drifted into uneasy silence while Maria rolled the ball between her palms thoughtfully. “If we have to choose one, I want to choose Redcliffe and the witches.” 

“It will do little for our prestige.” Josephine sighed. “They are sympathetic, at times, but feared and…” 

“The templars are a powerful enemy.” Leliana steepled her fingers together and collapsed into one of the chairs. “And Redcliffe presents as a more dangerous option. We could send additional diplomats from Orlais to the Templars, but we will be alone in Redcliffe.  _ You _ will be alone in Redcliffe.” 

“I will go with her.” Cassandra cut in immediately. It was nearly enough to warm Maria’s heart. 

“It is not the same, Cassandra.” Leliana sighed. “We cannot guarantee your safety, Herald.” 

“It doesn’t sound like you can guarantee it anywhere.” Maria gestured to the table, to the screen behind them. “I’m not made out of glass. And I don’t give a  _ fuck _ about prestige.” 

“Herald…” Cullen began. Maria glared at him sharply and stood, striding to the table. She picked up the remote to the screen and pressed a series of buttons, bringing up surveillance footage from a camera outside the hotel in Redcliffe. She could see people milling around anxiously. A child escaped from somebody’s clutches and was pulled back into the knot of the group quickly. 

“Cullen, there are innocent children. They didn’t ask to be born this way, they didn’t ask for this.” 

“It is not so easy to leave the Templar order. They are just as trapped as…” Cullen began to argue. Maria slammed her open palm down on the table, her temper flaring. 

“They’re not! They’re grown ass adults hooked on lyrium. They can face the consequences and walk at any time, but these fucking kids Cullen… the only way they can cut the cord is death.”

“You only think it’s that easy because you don’t know what it’s like to be trapped in an order that demands  _ everything _ from you!” Cullen pounded his own fist on the table, color rising when he glared down.

“Did you not see the tattoo on my back? Do you think I  _ wanted _ it?” The words poured out of her mouth and she couldn’t haul them back, couldn’t shove them deep into her pockets with all the other unsaid things. It was like a cork popped off a bottle, the pressure too much to bear. “I’ve hated every single second of being Carta, but  _ I’m _ the one who joined. I  _ choose  _ it and it doesn’t fucking matter why I did. And I could have left, I could have left  _ ages _ ago but I didn’t want to face the damn consequences so… damnit, it was still _ my _ choice.” 

Her choice. Her punishment. Her failure. It was her broken bones and bruised flesh, her aching heart and shattered dreams. She hadn’t been born Carta, she’d been born the beloved eldest daughter of a good man, a good cop. She’d had a doting grandmother, a precious younger sister, a husband who loved her with every fiber of his being.

She hadn’t been born this way. 

“They can leave, Cullen. You left.” She pointed out, fingers digging into the papers beneath her fingers. “They can do the right thing.”

Silence echoed around her and Cullen finally withdrew, nodding tersely. “If this is what you wish. We will come up with a plan to infiltrate Redcliffe, Herald. It is, after all, your risk.” 

“There are abandoned subway tunnels under the city.” Leliana stood swiftly. “I recall them from my time in Ferelden. Perhaps we could sneak additional support…” 

“I will select a team.” Cullen promised, inclining his head down to Maria respectfully. “The witches will do just as well at closing the vortex as the templars would, I hope.” 

It wasn’t about the vortex. Or at least, it wasn’t all about the vortex. Maria nodded, pressing her hand firmly against the table. She hadn’t realized it, but she was trembling. 

Josephine accompanied Cullen from the room, chattering about her plans to inform their allies. Maria waited in the heavy silence, staring at her hand against the wood, waiting for Cassandra to just fucking leave. 

“If there are consequences for leaving the Carta…” Cassandra started awkwardly. “If there are problems that arise from your role here… I do not wish you to face them alone. I… we owe you a great debt. You have been helpful. You do not need to return if you do not wish it.” 

“I’ll keep it in mind.” She couldn’t look up into Cassandra’s face, couldn’t trust herself well enough to hide the turmoil of her emotions. Cassandra didn’t say anything else but turned, robotically, on her own heel before striding from the room. 

“I think you have grown on her.” Leliana’s voice was soft, gentle. “Certainly more than she anticipated you would. She is… difficult at times. But she is a loyal friend.” 

“Maker.” The word came out a bit strangled, but she pushed for the humor anyway. “What do you say about me when I’m gone?” 

“That you are also difficult.” Leliana teased. “But a good woman.” 

Maria swallowed a lump in her throat and looked up. The moment she met Leliana’s eyes the woman held out her hand. “May I have that phone I gave you back?”

“Be my guest.” Maria dropped her hand quickly into her pocket and fished out the dreaded black device, plopping it unceremoniously into Leliana’s hand. There were three unread notifications. Leliana saw them and sighed. 

“He has deluded himself that he is in love with you.” Leliana put the phone down on the table. “That you love him and that, truly, is why you have stayed. He believes you are meant to be together.” 

“Dwyka doesn’t know what love is.” Maria did, though. Maria remembered the feel of Fynn’s heartbeat under her fingertips, the way Bea giggled, her father’s booming laughter and Nanna adding honey to the bitter tea she prefered so Maria would drink it.

“I believe you are correct.” Leliana nodded to herself. “I have an opportunity. Dwyka has… infringed on the territories of other gangs recklessly. It would be easy to make it look as if they had him executed. In fact, I suspect they will wish to take credit to increase their own credibility.” 

Leliana’s voice was completely calm, but there was no mistaking the tense, serious edge to her voice. “I wish I had a bit more time to get agents in place, but I believe it can be done. Are you ready to move ahead?” 

“When?” Her lips felt numb, the blood draining from all her extremities. 

“I wish to time it with your return to Redcliffe. You will be safely photographed elsewhere. I will ensure your sister is seen here by multiple people. They will not connect it to you.” Leliana promised, eyes flashing. “You have my word.” 

Maria nodded, swallowed her fears and clenched her fingers into fists. “I’m ready.” 

Leliana paused, eyeing her cautiously. “The information Dwyka is using to keep you in his grasp… does anyone else know it?” 

Maria shook her head firmly. “I don’t think so.”

“And you will not tell me what it is?” Leliana asked softly. “I will not think less of you, I swear. I want to help. Whatever you did...” 

She couldn’t say anything. She couldn’t ever say anything. She looked down quickly, her throat swelling closed, her heart thudding in panic. Leliana sighed softly, defeated. 

Maria swallowed, the words bubbling in her throat, a strangled mumble that was barely comprehensible to her own ears. Leliana heard her anyway and stopped, frozen. 

“Herald?” Leliana crouched down until she was shorter than Maria stood, peering up into Maria’s face. “Maria…” 

“I didn’t do it.” The words were clearer, stones falling from her lips. “It’s not my secret. It wasn’t me.” 

She didn't know how to feel. Perhaps it had been naive to expect to feel relieved, to feel like a weight dropped off her shoulders. Dread probably would have been more reasonable. Somebody knew her secret. Leliana knew and Maria couldn't take it back, couldn't swallow her words. 

For once, their fate fell blissfully out of her hands. 

But she didn't feel anything. The world seemed miles away from her and Maria floated above all of it with serene detachment. Shock, she thought ruefully. She'd heard of people going into shock or dissociative episodes. Maybe her mind finally fractured under stress.

But it all came back to not knowing how to feel. Didn't know what to do. She needed to tell Bea. Soon. Eventually. But she couldn't bear it at that moment. 

So she hid. Instead of walking out of the Chantry, she began to poke around. She found herself in the loft where the choir sang. Then she climbed higher. Higher still. She climbed until she emerged into the weak winter twilight into the dome that housed the great bronze bell. Maria easily could have folded herself up underneath it, but it didn't seem necessary. She perched precariously on one of the wooden railings instead and peered out over Haven. The buildings were covered with a dusting of frost to match the snow capped mountains. The streets spiraled out in a haphazard maze of street lights and parked cars that never moved (fuel was too scarce for civilians, after all). 

The people below looked so small. She couldn't make any of them out clearly to give them names. They wouldn't be able to spot her skulking in the shadows. But she could heat them. A burst of laughter, a Chantry sister singing, children squealing. 

It was nothing like the traffic and neon lights of Ostwick. Nothing like the noise of the tenement she grew up in. The air smelled crisp and clean, smog didn't choke everyone below.

She didn't have to go back to Ostwick. She could stay up here in the mountains, free and clear. She could learn to love the snow, she could take up painting. 

She could do whatever she wanted if…

She let her eyes fix on the vortex spiraling high on the mountaintop. She tried not to shiver. 

If she survived. If the world didn't end. 

"My, don't you look pensive."

She nearly fell off the railing, her hand reaching for a gun she wasn't carrying. The figure slipped from the shadows with his hands held dramatically high. 

"Dorian." Maria slumped back against the wood beam, closed her eyes for a heartbeat before working up a good glare and piercing the witch with it. "That thing with the shadows. Neat trick."

"Nonsense." Dorian waved it away. "Any dimwitted teenager could accomplish it. Well, any dimwitted teenager with enough magical talent and ambition at any rate."

"How many of those exist?" Maria asked skeptically.

"Ah. None I suppose." Dorian grinned cheerfully. "I was the only one and I passed through that dreadful phase of life ages ago."

It made her smile, the first flicker of emotion since she climbed the tower in the first place. Dorian leaned against one of the other beams supporting the bell's roof, appraising Haven beneath them. "I admit you proved harder to locate than I thought. But, of course, I didn't think the beloved Herald would be skulking around on rooftops. Thank Andraste's pillowy breasts for Nyx." 

As if responding to her name, a flutter of feathers landed near Maria's hand. It was the first time Maria got a chance to closely examine the tiny, delicate bird with the inquisitive dark eyes and bright yellow beak. It was staring at her sleeve, beak darting forward to peck at one bright button at her wrist. 

"Sorry." Maria apologized without quite considering that she was apologizing to a damn bird. "I think it's sewn on."

The bird chirped sharply, annoyed. 

"I have it on relatively good authority the templar order invited you and half of Orlais to dinner." Dorian's frown deepened. "I do hope you're not fooled."

"You're assuming they have sinister intentions?" Maria gently reached out one finger to touch the small creature's head. It let out a gentle coo and she smiled at it. 

"Of course they have sinister intentions!" Dorian sputtered. "The templar order can't have a dwarven criminal running amok claiming to be the Herald of Andraste!"

"I haven't claimed that." The feathers were so soft under her fingers. “You’re a pretty bird, aren’t you?” 

"It doesn't matter!" Dorian scowled down at her. "Do stop flirting with my familiar and consider how precarious your situation is. The witches…"

Maria paused in the act of bringing her wrist to her lips, arching one eyebrow. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize the Magister was just inviting me for tea, not attempted murder."

"Alexius is not the sole consideration! I know it is tempting to go with the stronger party, but that does not mean you're making the correct decision!" 

Maria calmly used her teeth to snap the threads holding the brass button to her coat. She brought her fingers up and gently tugged it free. "I know. That's why we're going to save the witches from whatever the hell Alexius is up to." 

"And furthermore…" Dorian interjected, just seconds before her words sank in. She watched them land solidly in his skull as she freed the button from her coat and offered it to Nyx in her upturned palm. 

The bird whistled with joy, snapping it from her fingers and flying into the air. Maria craned her head to watch it fly free, her gift securely in its beak. "If I've got a chance of dying either way… well, I'd rather not go surrounded by upper crust Orlesians." 

Dorian's mustache twitched again. "I knew I was not wrong about you. You seem remarkably grounded for a heretical religious leader, after all."

Maria scoffed. "They can put that on my tombstone."

"I will mention it, but I won't have anyone order it yet." Dorian leaned on the railing next to her, sparkling brown eyes catching hers.

"I'm going to live?" Maria didn't allow her eyes to flick to the vortex, but Dorian's did. 

"Yes." He declared imperiously. "We're both going to live because we're both far too pretty and clever to die in the Ferelden muck."

Maria laughed before she could stop herself, slamming a hand over her mouth quickly. Dorian simply smirked and offered her his hand. "Now, take me to the people in charge of keeping you alive so I can improve their plans."

His sculpted tan fingers curled upwards in gentle invitation, his eyes danced with mirth, and it shouldn't have been easy to take his hand. 

But it was. It was so easy, she didn't even think twice about it. 

xx 

Varric hadn’t been particularly surprised they’d all been moved out of the little house where Maria Cadash slept. He suspected, strongly, that Bea Cadash turned out to be rather more of a force to be reckoned with than anyone anticipated. She demanded her own space for Maria, herself, and Cole. By damn, the woman got it. 

So Varric really had no good reason to go out of his way to walk next to the little unassuming two story where Maria Cadash holed up, but he couldn’t help himself. He'd barely seen her in the days since their return to Haven. She could still be avoiding him, but somehow he thought the endless meetings in the Chantry were more to blame. He only caught glimpses of her while she sloshed through the snow slick streets on her way to or from something. 

But she did wave when she saw him, at least there was that. And Varric got word almost immediately when the decision was finally made. They'd be going back to Redcliffe to trick the Magister and heroically rescue the poor, beleaguered witches. Varric, as the self-appointed hacker in chief, would be by her side. 

Then they'd seal the vortex up and call it a day. And Maria…

Maria would die. Or vanish into the ether, back into the shittiest neighborhoods of Ostwick. Unless, of course, Bea had her way. Varric hoped she did, it would ruin the fairy tale ending if his heroine ended up in the same shitty situation she started at. Maria Cadash deserved better. 

Varric could offer her better. 

And it was that thought that made him show up at Maria’s doorstep, flimsy excuse in hand, the night before they were due to leave for Redcliffe. Hopefully, he thought, for the last time. He brought his knuckles up to the wooden door frame, took a steadying breath, and knocked. 

“Come in!” Bea’s voice rang brightly. Varric heard the clash of pans and reached for the door knob, pushing his way out of the cold and into the warm glow of light spilling out. He shut it quickly behind him and turned to peer into the kitchenette. 

Both Bull and Cole sat on stools up against the kitchen island, the Qunari’s creaking ominously when he turned. Sera sat on top of the laminate countertop, long legs swinging, eyes glued to Bea’s form like a fish dangling from a hook. 

Bea herself swayed lightly in time to music pouring from a phone, her hips rolling to the gentle beat as she tossed a cutting board into the sink, light flashing off the steel knife she held in her hand. The skimpy tank top she wore revealed the curling ink over her shoulder, the Carta triangles with the OW in the center. 

He should have been pretty concerned about the knife in Bea’s hand, but honestly he was more distracted by the fact Bull had chucked his shirt and sat bare chested. Bulging muscles and taut pectorals on full display as he waved in acknowledgement. “Hey Varric.” 

Bea stopped dancing immediately, rounding gracefully with blade still in hand to glare at the doorway. She gestured with it rather threateningly. “I didn’t invite you.” 

Let it never be said that Varric Tethras couldn’t come up with some grade A snark even with a knife pointed at him. He let his eyes flick pointedly to Sera, then to Bull’s bare chest. “Is it because my tits aren’t impressive enough?” 

Sera snorted. “Tits out or get lost!” 

“That’s hurtful, Varric.” Bull brought a mug up to his mouth and sipped from it carefully. Varric noted, gleefully, that it said ‘number one dad’ in big block letters. 

“But I don’t…” Cole began, frowning. 

“You live here, kid.” Varric threw Cole a good natured wink. “You don’t count.” 

“What are you doing here?” Bea demanded, gray eyes blazing with temper. Varric held both his hands up in surrender, one clutching his phone. 

“Ruffles wanted me to check and make sure Maria’s email is working on her phone. She here?” 

“No.” Bea snapped.

“Boss is upstairs.” Bull answered at the same exact time. The glare she shot him was scorching, but Bull simply shrugged. “Didn’t realize we needed time to get our story straight little B.” 

“She’s nervous.” Cole muttered. “Paper under her fingers, words blur on the page. Staring at the same line for five minutes, counting the steps into Redcliffe in her head over and over and…” 

“Eat your green beans, Cole.” Bea interrupted, lifting her chin imperiously into the air while she stared down Varric. “She’s busy.” 

Busy driving herself crazy, it sounded like. But Bea was puffed up like a cat cornered, ready to hiss and scratch. Just like the strays that lived outside his building and ate out of the Hanged Man’s dumpsters. In fact, put Bea in a black dress and cat ears and she’d do a perfect impression of that one with the white paws with the too smart eyes, the one Hawke called…

“Easy, Mittens.” Varric tipped one side of his lips up in his most charming smile. “I’ll only be a second.” 

She blinked, stunned by the nickname that suited her feline demeanor so very well. “Mittens?” She repeated. “What the fuck…” 

“Yes.” Cole nodded. “Playful. Purring. Proud. Pretty. It fits like your favorite dress.” 

“Thank you kid.” Varric didn’t bother to contain his amusement.

“I’d like to hear you purr.” Sera offered lewdly with a wink. Bea, helpless to do anything but flirt back, let her eyes dance back to the lanky elf. Bull took the chance to lean over most of the island and retrieve a lone plate piled high with roasted chicken, green beans, macaroni and cheese, and one chocolate chip cookie perched to the side precariously. 

“Here.” He pushed the plate at Varric with a sly wink. “See if you can get her to eat. Flash some of that chest hair if you need to.” 

“Damnit.” Bea glared at the plate, then at Bull, before swinging that mutinous expression back to Varric. “Fine. Whatever. But if she doesn’t eat a  _ fucking _ vegetable I’m shaving that rug of yours off.” 

“Yes!” Sera exclaimed. Varric felt distinctly uncomfortable at the electric excitement lighting up his face. “So good! I’ll hold him down.” 

Varric suddenly realized he’d have to spend the rest of his time in the Inquisition sleeping with one eye open. He beat a hasty retreat with the warm plate in one hand, not even bothering to pause at the bottom of the steps. The laughter followed him up the steps, the warm sound at odds with the freezing draft coming from the loft. He poked his head up tentatively, eyes drawn to the window immediately as the source of the chilly breeze.

It was thrown wide open in spite of the temperature. Maria sat in the windowsill, one leg curled under her, hunched forward over a book in her lap. In deference to the chill, she wore her coat over a battered old t-shirt and  _ his _ stolen sweatpants. She had a pipe in one hand, a pretty glass thing she brought to her lips, inhaling deeply and turning to blow the smoke out the open window. 

_ Somebody _ dipped into her younger sister’s illicit substances. Varric rolled his eyes, not without fondness, climbing the rest of the steps. Maria stared out the open window and didn’t seem to notice his presence until he dropped the plate on the dresser. The sound caused her to startle and fumble the pipe, swearing elegantly and looking up in alarm.

She laughed at herself when she met his mock disapproving gaze, a delectable pink flush spreading underneath her freckled cheeks. “Shit, Varric. I thought you were the Seeker.”

“You’re lucky I’m not.” He made his way casually to the windowsill and leaned against it, the cold night air stealing away the acrid smoke of the pipe. Her pupils were a bit too wide, the whites around them just a bit too red. He couldn’t claim to be an expert, but he’d judge her as being comfortably stoned, but not  _ obviously _ so. She smiled under his scrutiny, dropping her gaze down to both pipe and book, lashes dusting her cheekbones. 

“I’m lucky you’re not my sister.” Maria confided, fluttering her lashes innocently. “I didn’t ask first, but I’m pretty sure she’s wearing the jeans Josephine bought me.”

Ah, the familiar refrain of sisterhood. How many times had he been out with Bethany and Hawke just to have one of them stop suddenly and ask where the other one had found that sweater, or belt, or earrings, or… “Your sister sent dinner up. If you don’t eat she’s threatening me with assault.” 

“Did she send up cookies?” Maria asked immediately, eyes sliding past Varric to the plate. Varric took the opportunity to drop his eyes to the book she held. He recognized his own words spilling across the page. The one paragraph by her thumb leaping out like it was written in red ink. 

_ I wish I could say I leapt to action. That I rushed in immediately toward the figure collapsed among the glowing red stones. It was Fenris, instead, that cried out Hawke’s name and ran forward. Anders followed close on his heels and both men dropped beside the small, thin form I’d spotted. I stood, frozen, thoughts whirling in my head like a storm. I sent Hawke to the mine. I trusted my brother to have her back. And, instead, he left her to die. In those seconds, I convinced myself she was dead, and that I had killed her. _

“Princess, if you’re going to linger over any parts of this, I wouldn’t recommend this bit.” He tapped the page, swallowing the bitterness that always rose up in his throat when he thought about Bartrand. “This is shit, but beginnings are always the hardest.” 

Maria’s eyes focused on him, alertness dulled only slightly. “He really did that to her? To you? Your own brother...” 

He couldn’t look in her eyes and have this conversation, so he ripped his gaze to the window instead and looked out over the town. “Yeah. Bartrand was always a greedy bastard.” 

“Did you get a chance to kick him in the balls at least?” Maria joked weakly. Varric worked hard to summon up half a smile for her and shook his head.

“He’s dead. I killed him.” Varric admitted. He could still remember the shock on Bartrand’s face when Varric fired the lethal bullet. “Self-defense, since he was trying to kill me first. It was all over the fucking news. Happened three years after we got out of those damn mines.” 

“I was avoiding the television news then. Still.” Maria traced her fingers over the words, his heartache on the page. “I was still pissed about the trial and the way the reporters…” 

The way the reporters painted her like a cold blooded gold digger sick of her rich boyfriend once daddy cut the purse strings. Instead of finishing her thought, she gently brought her hand up to his shoulder. “I can’t imagine. I can’t… if Bea did that to me… fuck, I’d never be able to trust anyone. Every again.” 

Her fingers burned through his coat, their weight comforting and reassuring. The air crackled vibrantly around her, like the universe insisted on illuminating her. Varric mastered his expression back into something calmly genial and smirked. “Somehow, I think you’re safe. Me on the other hand…” 

Maria’s smile turned sad, troubled. She pulled her hand away and ran it through her hair, the other dropping the pipe on the windowsill. “Bea wouldn’t hurt you.” 

Oh, Beatrix Cadash certainly would. Varric knew enough dangerous women to recognize one when he saw her. Bea was curved like a switchblade, wicked and ready to carve a man to shreds in a second while smiling with her painted lips and dancing eyes. If Bea thought Varric posed a threat, she’d find a way to get rid of him. He didn’t doubt it. 

So why the  _ fuck _ were the Cadash girls still tangled up in the Carta? Bea Cadash  _ knew _ what Dwyka did to her sister, Varric saw it on her face, saw it on the way she squared off against him protectively downstairs. What the hell could be so daunting that both women stayed in a situation they obviously both hated? 

It didn’t matter, Varric reminded himself stubbornly. What mattered was what happened next, and Varric could do something about that. 

“After this is over… you three will need to go somewhere.” He began neutrally, calmly. “Bea said you’re not going back to Ostwick.” 

“That sounds like something she’d say.” Maria sighed, leaned her head back wearily and exposed the long pale line of her throat. A cheap, tarnished silver chain circled her neck, disappearing into the shirt. Varric let his eyes drift over it, momentarily distracted, before he continued on. 

“You could disappear.” He offered, fighting the urge to lean forward and push the strands of red hair falling forward around her chin back behind her ear. “Anywhere you wanted. Rivain is nice this time of year.” 

“How?” Maria asked skeptically. “I’d have to wear those glasses every moment of every day. My face is all over the news.” 

“I can help.” He had to say it now, before he lost his nerve. “Wherever you want to go. I can make it happen. I’ve got the connections, I’ve got the disposable income, and I’ve got the technology to make it happen.” 

Maria’s mouth dropped into an almost comical little ‘o’. Then she recovered, pushing herself upright and looking warily towards the stairs. “Varric, you can’t talk like this. If Cassandra…” 

“Fuck the Seeker.” Varric didn’t care what she had to say. “Listen. These people are nice enough for religious fanatics, but I’ve seen what happens to good women who get stuck in these impossible situations. You don’t have to stay here. This isn’t your only option.” 

“Varric…” 

“Just don’t go back to Ostwick, Princess. Take the chance and get the fuck out while you can before the Carta gets you killed.” Varric knew he was walking the fine line between begging and persuading, but he didn’t care about that either. He didn’t want to wake up and see the headline, someday, that Dwyka smashed her head in or that she ended up in an alley with a bullet in her skull. 

“Anywhere I want?” Her eyes met his, startling in their intensity. She leaned forward and the wind caught her hair, blew the sweet spicy scent of her perfume over him. He wasn’t sure if she knew what she was doing, but her hand came up again to rest lightly over the unbuttoned V of his shirt, tracing the hard discs of the buttons with her finger. 

“Anywhere.” He promised. “No strings attached. Just… just think about it.” 

He brought his hand up to cover hers, their bare skin scorching where it touched in spite of the freezing wind slicing through the room. She continued to look at him, face tipped up, so close to him… close enough to fall into his arms. Close enough for him to wrap her up in his arms and… 

“What if I wanted to go to Kirkwall?” She whispered so quietly it was almost lost to the sounds of the town outside, to the burst of sharp laughter downstairs. 

His apartment burned, with the Hanged Man and so many other places, homes, businesses. If it wasn’t for Hawke’s mansion surviving miraculously untouched, he’d have been out on the streets with most of their friends. But he pictured Maria curled up on his battered, much loved leather sofa like a cat anyway, the skyline of Kirkwall framing her as beautifully as Val Royeaux had. 

He remembered that Leandra Hawke went on a binge shopping spree after they hauled Sunshine off to the Gallows, after Varric transferred Bartrand’s share of Rogue Tech into Hawke’s hands. One of the more extravagant purchases, beyond the fucking masion itself, was a grand piano nobody could play. The only action that piano saw, to his knowledge, was Isabela getting plowed by some random party guest on it several times. 

Maria could do better. Maria could do it justice. 

She was still looking at him, eyes beguilingly vulnerable. Probably because she was high, because he’d done nothing to earn that blooming warm trust in her eyes. 

“It’s seen better days.” Like he had, honestly. Varric squeezed her hand gently and pulled it from his chest, letting it drop back into her lap. “Kirkwall doesn’t deserve you, beautiful. But if that’s where you wanted to go…” 

He’d take her there. At that moment, he’d take her anywhere she asked. 

Maria pulled back and dropped her eyes, nodding. “I’ll think about it.” She promised. Varric nodded himself, trying to remember that was what he wanted. He hadn’t come here for more, he hadn’t come here to demand anything else from her. 

He hadn’t come here to kiss her. Not now, not with tomorrow looming over them like a nightmare yet to occur.

“Alright.” He managed a smile for her, turning from the window. “Get some sleep, Maria. Try to eat something for the sake of my physical safety.” 

He only made it a few steps before she made a noise behind him that sounded like ‘wait.’ Varric turned, half-hoping she’d rush forward and kiss  _ him _ instead so they could finally deal with the spiraling tension blooming like plants in a hothouse between them. 

Instead, she held out Hawke’s tarot card, the Lovers mocking him from her grip. “Surprisingly, it didn’t run away and lose my place.” She joked weakly. “But I’m probably pushing my luck, right? Do you want it back?” 

Hawke’s card. Hawke’s magic. Maybe it was superstitious, but if some of Hawke’s power could just rub off on her, keep her safe when she delved into the lion’s den... “Keep it for now, Princess. Maybe it’ll be a good luck charm.” 

“Alright.” Maria scoffed, but she dropped her arm back to her side and shrugged. “If you insist. Goodnight.” 

Varric nearly choked on the word, maintaining his careful smile the whole time. “Goodnight, Princess.” 

He turned back to the stairs and didn’t see Maria carefully slip the card into her coat pocket, but he felt her gaze on his back as he descended the stairs. He imagined there was a note of longing in it, one that weighed heavily in the cold room. 

It was just his imagination, he was sure of it, but damnit he wished it wasn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, it's about to get so angsty and I'm so so sorry. Redcliffe is gonna succccck.


	23. The Last Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric takes a call from Bianca.  
Maria arrives at the end of the world.

If Varric stared at the blueprints much longer, he'd  _ really _ need glasses. And the minute he actually started needing glasses was the minute he could no longer deny Hawke’s jokes about how fucking old he’d gotten. Damnit if he was going to let Hawke have the last word in  _ that _ argument. 

Honestly, the plan was simple enough. Maria would go in the front with him, Cassandra, and Bull. Dorian and the rest, minus Cole who’d been assigned to babysit and utterly mutinous Beatrix in Haven, would go through the abandoned subway tunnels with a handpicked squad of veteran soldiers. They’d surprise the grubby Magister, steal the witches from under his nose, and make sure Maria didn’t get herself assassinated. 

Easy. Except, of course, for all the shit that could go wrong. 

The phone vibrated in his hand, the screen flashing Bianca Davri’s name. Varric sighed, irritated, and made to reject the call. At the last second he paused, torn. He’d put himself in a dangerous situation, again, one he very well may not emerge from. Did he really want his last conversation with Bianca to be that fucking shitshow in Val Royeaux? 

Before he could talk himself out of it, he accepted the call and sent it straight to his earpiece so he could continue to stare at the blueprints. “If you’re calling to apologize, I’d recommend sending a card to Maria Cadash instead. Maybe flowers too.” 

“Shut up.” Bianca snapped immediately, her voice tense. “Are you  _ seriously _ on your way back to Redcliffe?” 

“Already here.” Well, close enough anyway. The Inquisition set up a staging area several miles away from the city. Cullen assured them it was strategically secret. Behind him, Varric could hear Cassandra’s voice barking out orders. “What’s wrong?” 

“Varric, you’re going to get yourself killed.” He recognized the tone she was using. That tone she always adopted when she thought he was doing something stupid that was going to blow up in their faces. The one that never  _ actually _ made him reconsider his plans but always caused a surge of guilt. “Why? Why on our ancestor’s graves are you…” 

“It’s the right thing to do.” Varric supplied. “If I’m here there’s a bigger chance everyone goes home. Hell, it’ll give me some good material for my next book at least. Pick a reason.” 

“You’re an idiot for a pretty face.” Bianca muttered. 

“It doesn’t hurt.” Varric could admit that, at least. There wasn’t any harm in that as long as he remembered that  _ pursuing _ the Herald of Andraste was a disaster waiting to happen. He could look, but he couldn’t touch. “You’re wrong about her. I know you’re not wrong about much, but this time you’ve made a mistake.” 

“Varric…” 

“And even if you were right, which, let me reiterate, you’re not.” Varric dropped his voice low. “It doesn’t matter when she’s the only one with any hope of making sure the world doesn’t collapse on our heads.” 

“I don’t care about the fucking world Varric.” Bianca’s voice shook with anguish. “I care about  _ you _ .” 

Damnit. Varric couldn’t ignore the surge of pain in his chest, the dull throb in his forehead. He swallowed against the bitterness, the million unanswered questions, the recriminations. “Just leave.” Bianca begged. “Just go somewhere. Anywhere. We can go to Rivain, just like you always wanted.” 

“No we won’t.” Varric sighed. 

“I promise this time.” It wasn’t the first time he heard those words. Somehow, they always sounded sincere. Maybe, in the moment, they were. But Varric would emerge from danger and nothing would change. Nothing ever changed. “I swear, Varric…” 

“Bianca…” 

“I love you.” He could hear the tears now. Varric closed his eyes and he could picture her blonde hair mussed the way it always was when she worked because she constantly ran her fingers through it, turquoise eyes sparkling with suppressed emotion, beseeching him to stay. 

“I know.” Varric’s grip on his phone tightened, he stared at the screen still but he wasn’t seeing it anymore. He pictured the life they could have had. Should have had. “And I do too. A part of me always will.” 

A younger part, a more innocent part. A cocky kid who thought his cleverness and good looks would win the brilliant woman everyone vied for. Once, it had been that easy. Maybe it could have stayed that easy. 

If she hadn’t married someone else. 

“I know you’re mad. But we’ll fix it, we always do. We’ll make it right.” Bianca soothed. “Just come home, okay? Make it out alive and come back to me.” 

“I’ll try.” To make it out alive, anyway. As to whether or not they could fix it, make this nebulous thing between them work one more time… “But we’re getting too old for this shit, and you know it.” 

She laughed, the sound choked with sorrow. He could always make her laugh, at least. 

“Varric?” Maria called from behind him, the sound bright and clear as a bell. He could tell Bianca heard it too, could hear her brief lapse into humor cut itself off cold. “Varric, it’s time to go.” 

Varric turned to look over his shoulder. Maria stood with her hands shoved into her coat pockets, her face drawn and serious but eyes calm and steady. She wasn’t panicking, not yet at any rate. She had all the hallmarks of a woman who’d made a decision and was going to stick with it come hell or high water. If she was frightened, he couldn’t tell. 

It was the same steely determination that got them up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes as she slowly deteriorated. Varric could appreciate her steadfastness. Now, perhaps, more than any other time. 

“Well, time to get the show on the road then.” Varric grinned at Maria and pointed to his earpiece, holding up his other finger to ask for a minute. “I’ll call after. Take care of yourself.” 

“I’ll hold you to that, Varric.” Bianca said quietly. “Be careful.” 

With that, the line went dead. Varric was left with nothing but silence in his ear and Maria’s gray eyes burning into him. Varric rubbed his forehead briskly and slipped his phone into his pocket. Maria’s lips tipped up just slightly on one side and she shrugged. “Sorry. Hard to tell when you’re on the phone or when you’re just listening to the computer.” 

“You’re not going to believe this, but they made a drinking game of it in Kirkwall. They bet on whether or not I was staring off into space listening to Bianca or a conference call. Loser had to buy the winner a shot.” Varric smirked to himself. “I amended the rules to say I also needed a beer purchased for me every time they played. Consolation prize just in case I was on a conference call.” 

“I absolutely believe that. It sounds exactly like something those friends of yours would dream up.” Maria reached up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind the delicate curve of her ear. She cast her gray eyes over the rushing soldiers, over their little team, frowning in concentration.

“This is going to work.” Varric claimed confidently. “Somehow, it always does. And you’re lucky so we’ve got that going for us.” 

She scoffed at that, fixing him with an expression so skeptical he chuckled at it. “Right.” She said dryly. “If we’re counting on my luck we’re fucking screwed.” 

“I hate to be the one to point this out.” Varric gestured to her theatrically. “But, you definitely should be dead. At least two times that I know of.” 

She scowled at that and bit her lip, probably not hard enough to draw blood but a close thing. Varric scrambled, tried to come up with something to say to erase that expression…

“Three.” She admitted softly. “I should have been dead three times. That I know of.” 

She didn’t meet his eyes, but she rolled her shoulders carelessly. “But you’re right. It’s going to work. It has to.” 

Varric started to feel twitchy almost immediately after the gates to Redcliffe slammed shut behind them. To their credit, nobody in their little group flinched or looked over their shoulders. Still, the tension radiated from them in a variety of different ways. Maria stroked her fingers up and down her left wrist repeatedly, tracing her tattoo. Bull’s deceptively casual stance didn’t hide the way his one eye scanned the streets they walked down. Cassandra’s jaw was clenched so tightly a vein throbbed near her temple. 

“Are you armed?” A witch asked nervously, meeting them outside the hotel, eyes landing on the rather obvious assault rifle swung over Bull’s shoulders. “The Magister wishes this to be a friendly meeting…” 

“He’s armed, isn’t he?” Cassandra snapped impatiently. 

“If the Herald will disarm…” The witch swallowed, eyes flicking from side to side in dread. “I would be pleased to take her to the Magister…” 

“Alone?” Maria asked calmly. The witch nodded frantically and Maria smiled and shook her head. “No. I’m afraid I can’t be expected to negotiate without my assistants.” 

The fact that one of her assistants looked visibly capable of ripping a Magister limb from limb would definitely be an effective negotiating tactic. If they were actually going to negotiate, anyway.

But Varric guessed the Magister didn’t want to give them a sportsmanlike chance when walking into an ambush. Maria cooly clasped her hands in front of her and waited, looking up at the sputtering witch above them with a patient smile. 

“I cannot allow…” The woman fluttered her hands uselessly. 

“I think you should reevaluate what you are willing to allow.” Cassandra’s tone dripped menace. The blood drained out of the witch’s face. 

“One moment…” The witch ducked away, pulling a phone from their pocket. Varric watched her dial with shaking fingers and shot Cassandra a chagrined look. 

“You scared her.” He accused.

“She should be frightened.” Cassandra declared impatiently. 

“Did you ever hear a phrase about honey and flies?” 

“I do not care for flies.” Cassandra lifted her chin imperiously. 

“Told you boss.” Bull grumbled cheerfully. “They didn’t even make it inside the hotel.” 

“I should have known better than to bet against you.” Maria agreed. “How much do I owe you? Or should I just deduct it off what you owe me for Wicked Grace?” 

“You’re betting on whether we’d argue?” Cassandra didn’t sound nearly as amused as Varric felt. Maria cast her eyes upward with that same patient smile.

“Oh, no, you were both  _ definitely _ going to start arguing with each other. We were betting on when.” 

“For the love of Andraste…” Cassandra sighed. 

“Do I get a cut? Since I started it?” Varric held out his hand. Maria shook her head quickly and wrinkled her nose. Her eyes were on the hotel rising up above them, counting the floors. She frowned. 

“Weird question. Could be losing my mind.” Maria pointed up. “Did this hotel have twelve floors last time we were here?” 

“Yeah boss.” Bull looked up as well. 

“Does it have thirteen now?” Maria asked.

Varric immediately started counting windows. He did it three times before he swore out loud. Maria hadn’t lost her mind. Somehow, the hotel grew an extra floor in the few days they’d been away. Which, of course, was as impossible as any of the other crazy shit that happened to them.

“Bianca.” He muttered, pausing to wait for the AI to beep in acknowledgement. “What the fuck are we looking at?” 

“I can offer only educated guesses.” The voice in his ear responded. “The probability is some sort of arcane distortion of space. I cannot access any cameras or networked devices in the thirteenth floor. I recommend contacting the Champion.” 

“Not an option.” Varric spat out through gritted teeth. Even if he felt like he was safe to call in Hawke, she’d never make it in time. “Any other recommendations?” 

“I recommend against entering an unknown situation. The probability that the thirteenth floor hosts something unpleasant is high.” 

“Miss Cadash.” The witch reappeared, phone clutched in her hands. “The Magister says he will see you in the conference room with your companions. There is no need to disarm.” 

“Lovely.” Maria beamed up at the human, but turned to stare at Varric as soon as the witch turned her back with one eyebrow lifted.

“Guess we’re gonna test that luck of yours, Princess.” He offered casually. Maria didn’t roll her eyes, but even he could see it was a close thing. 

“Stay close.” Cassandra whispered. Maria nodded and they entered the revolving lobby doors. For some reason, it was just as cold inside the hotel as it had been outside. Varric thought he could see his breath. The witch led them to the conference room from the day before, but this time it hosted the Magister, his son, and at least a dozen witches. All of them wore identical gleaming, predatory smiles. 

“Herald!” The Magister greeted triumphantly. “Have a seat. Thank you for taking me up on my invitation.” 

Maria walked to the other side of the table, this time the Magister arranged it so they were sequestered as far from both the door and windows as possible. As if he needed further assurance there’d be no escape. Varric closed the door behind them as they entered, following the other three. Maria didn’t sit down, she simply leaned on the back of one of the chairs, folding her arms and resting her chin on them. “How could I refuse?” She asked, holding the Magister’s gaze.

“Surely, we can find some common ground.” The Magister said grandly, but his eyes were greedy when they fixed on Maria’s figure. “There must be something your Inquisition can offer in exchange for our assistance.” 

“Lots of things.” Maria agreed. She tilted her head towards Cassandra and Bull. “We’ve got a pretty good army coming along. Witches are good, I guess, but sometimes you just need some good old fashioned muscle to hit things.” 

“Interesting proposition.” The Magister leaned forward, obviously humoring Maria. “But I’m afraid the Imperium has plenty of able bodied soldiers.” 

“Maybe you should tell us what you want?” Maria fluttered her lashes. Varric fought the urge to reach for his shotgun when he spotted shadows gathering in the corner of the room by the door, the one behind the Magister. Quietly, the shadows extended, like great fingers searching… 

“And if we want you?” The Magister asked with a genial smile. “I’m afraid you are quite the curiosity, Miss Cadash. Scholars in Tevinter would be willing to pay quite a price to examine you.” 

Icy dread prickled down Varric’s skin. He knew what the scholars and researchers in Tevinter were capable of, after all. Maria didn’t flinch, but her voice was flat. “The terms of this arrangement?” 

“We would of course assure your safety.” The Magister lied fluently. “I have it on good authority you’re a clever girl and…” 

The Magister droned on. He didn’t see the fingers of shadow reach out and wrap around the two witches at each end of the table. It was so sudden, they barely had time to reach up and try to unwrap the solid darkness from them before their eyes went dark and they slumped backwards. The inky darkness relaxed it grip on their forms and moved fluidly to the next, then the next… 

“Of course, it is a small price to pay, isn’t it? Your future here for the future of the world itself?” The Magister offered. 

“It is.” Maria agreed quietly. Her eyes never flicked away from the Magister’s. “But I won’t pay it.” 

The false geniality dropped like a stone from the Magister’s face. Instead, they were confronted with blinding rage. “Perhaps you misunderstand, Miss Cadash. You have little choice.” 

At that moment, the last two witches on either side of the Magister toppled forward, heads hitting hard against the table. Varric winced sympathetically and the Magister jumped, shocked, head turning to take in the sight…

At the same time the door behind him burst open and soldiers flooded into the room, rifles trained on the lone witch still standing. 

“I think you’re the one with limited options.” Maria said casually, straightening from her relaxed posture. She smiled, a faint thing tinged with relief and victory. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t you  _ dare _ apologize.” Dorian emerged from the deep, dark shadows on the wall, brushing dust from his shoulder. “You have played a magnificent hand, Miss Cadash. Well done.” 

“Dorian!” The Magister whirled, eyes livid. His son reached for his elbow, grabbing it securely before the man could lunge for the other witch. 

“Father, it’s over.” Felix whispered wearily. “Let’s go home. Now.” 

“Yes.” Dorian ignored the furious man’s attempt to exact some kind of revenge. “Do go home before you embarrass yourself further.” 

“I’m not here to make enemies.” Maria walked around the table until she stood beside Dorian, hands shoved back in her pockets. “I’m taking the witches who want to come with me and I’m leaving. I recommend you do the same.” 

“You are leaving.” The Magister looked down at his wrist, to the expensive gold watch on his arm. His features, twisted with fury, took on a gleam of madness. “That is indeed correct.” 

“Alexius, stop this ranting and…” Dorian began impatiently, dropping one arm in front of Maria to form a barrier between her and the Magister. Before the witch could finish his thought, the Magister ripped his one arm from Felix’s grip and pressed something on his watch, Varric couldn’t see what.

But he did see the flash of toxic green light. He heard Dorian’s startled shout, saw the witch raise up his pen to do… something, Varric felt some sort of magic ripple out. The meeting of the two forces caused a small explosion, one that threw the soldiers against the wall, knocked over all the tables, and sent Bull, Cassandra, and himself sprawling onto their backs.

And when Varric looked up through the smoke and debris, his heart sank into his stomach. Maria’s name reverberated through the room, he couldn’t tell who yelled it first. It could have been Cassandra. It could have been him. It didn’t matter. 

Nobody answered. Their Herald had vanished into the abyss. 

xx

Maria hit the concrete so hard that all the air in her lungs left in one audible gasp. When she inhaled desperately to replace it, she nearly choked on the scent of damp mold and something rotten. Then, her brain helpfully supplied that the very fact she found herself in the dark on top of concrete when she’d just been in a well lit, relatively comfortable conference room was wrong. Extremely, nerve-wrackingly, wrong. 

“Fasta vass! The nerve!” An irritated, cultured voice exclaimed. “What in the Maker’s name did he think…” 

“Dorian?” She called, pushing herself to her knees. Gravel and dirt stuck to her palms and she brushed them absently on her jeans while she stood, eyes desperately trying to adjust to the dark. 

The light that erupted from her left temporarily blinded her, left her blinking tears from her eyes while she strained to take in her surroundings. An orb of light twirled elegantly in the air above her head like a planet spinning on an axis, casting a warm glow that illuminated what looked to be a tunnel, blackness stretching beyond the halo of light in either direction. Dorian squinted into the darkness behind Maria while reaching into his inner blazer pocket. 

The fact that his hand emerged clutching a rather irritated, squawking bunch of feathers made Maria laugh in spite of herself. The bird pecked Dorian’s fingers repeatedly until the man resumed his cursing and freed the small creature. Maria crossed her arms over her chest and stared pointedly at the human. “Where am I?” 

“An interesting question, really.” Dorian murmured, examining the red marks on his hand distastefully while Nyx settled herself, puffed up in anger, on Maria’s shoulder. “Spatial displacement can really be so tricky. I doubt this is what Alexius intended…” 

Maria glared upwards and the bird on her shoulder squawked as if expressing her disdain as well. “I know it’s a damn good question, I want an answer.” 

“Well, you’re alive, and you’re welcome for that!” Dorian huffed, aggravated. “I suspect if Alexius had his way, that sultry little pout of yours would be much missed for the rest of time. I deflected the brunt of the attack, which means…” 

“We are…?” Maria steered the man back to the main problem. Dorian sighed and rolled his eyes upwards as Nyx chirped, echoing Maria’s disapproval. 

“These look like the tunnels we used to get into Redcliffe, although this particular section doesn’t ring a bell.” Dorian stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “Either direction should get us back to the surface eventually.” 

Maria immediately swallowed the knot of fear, but she couldn’t hide the cold sweat she felt break out all over her skin. “We’re underground.” 

“Back to your ancestral roots!” Dorian gestured grandly around them. “Do you feel yourself becoming more attuned to your glorious past yet? Although, to be fair, these aren’t deep enough to really jog the dwarven psyche. Humans won’t risk digging much deeper and catching the blight.” 

The blight, Nanna told her, drove all the dwarves to the surface hundreds of years ago. It was either that or perish, which some did rather than lose their connection to the mythical ‘stone’ she’d heard so much about. Some of the dwarves on the surface still got dewy-eyed about it, Nanna included. All Maria could think about, as a girl listening to the story, were those dwarves that chose to stay. Alone, forgotten, entombed with miles and miles of dirt and rock above their head. 

She thought of them frequently the year she spent in prison awaiting trial. Wondered if they’d felt the same crushing weight she did while they waited for their homes to become their tombs. 

“I’m not a fan of this, Dorian.” Maria admitted through clenched teeth. 

“Being underground, being in a small, enclosed space, or being magically shoved down here like a drunk in a taxi cab after last call?” Dorian asked genially. She shot him a withering look she hoped concealed her nausea. “Ah, all three then. Well, come along and let’s start walking. We can’t have gone too far.” 

Andraste, she hoped so. Dorian snapped his fingers and the orb in the air bobbed gently before beginning to follow him. Maria rushed forward so quickly she very nearly ran into his back. If Dorian noticed, he didn’t say anything. They took several steps in silence before Dorian spoke again. “I suppose I should thank you. It could not have been easy to buck the trend and side with  _ witches _ of all things. I’m sure you’ve properly gotten everyone’s panties in a twist.” 

“Maybe wait to thank me until we figure out what happened  _ after _ we got displaced.” Maria advised. Maker knew the shit storm happening back in the hotel. “Besides. I’m still not in the mood to forgive you for landing me in this dank tunnel even if it saved my life.” 

“Duly noted. Next time, I’ll allow you to perish before subjecting you to dark tunnels full of mildew and probably spiders the size of my…” 

“Please stop.” If she saw a spider, she was definitely going to lose the tenuous grasp on calmness and dignity she still possessed. 

“Herald of Andraste. Frightened of tunnels and spiders.” Dorian couldn’t quite hide his amusement. “I suppose we all must have our weaknesses. If you were  _ completely _ brave and insufferably noble you’d be infuriating.” 

As he spoke, his light illuminated the wall at the far end of the tunnel, branches spiraling out to the left and right. But, more alarming, shards of red lyrium pierced through cracks in the old concrete, glimmering like blood above them and giving off enough heat to color Maria’s face. Dorian stepped forward, intrigued. “Is this the red lyrium I’ve heard so much about?” 

“Yes.” Maria remembered it from the Temple of Sacred Ashes, remembered Varric yelling at her not to touch it. That thought made her reach out and grab Dorian’s arm when he reached out. The sudden movement sent the bird on her shoulder into startled flight, squawking loudly. “Do you know what they say about curiosity and the cat?” 

“Something boring, I expect.” Dorian muttered. Nyx settled upon his shoulder instead, nuzzled into his neck in a manner more feline than avian. “I didn’t see any of this our first trip through.” 

That sat uneasily in Maria’s stomach. Did that mean they had gone further than Dorian thought? How far? 

The bird on Dorian’s shoulder made an odd, trilling sound and Dorian stiffened warily. He snapped his fingers and the orb above them extinguished itself, plunging them into darkness. Before Maria could protest as viciously as she wanted to, Dorian’s palm covered her mouth. 

The gesture froze her, perhaps more effectively than Dorian meant to. She remembered her dream, remembered Dwyka’s fingers turning to claws to gruesomely shred her lips. But it was that momentary panic that allowed her to hear what, perhaps, Nyx heard first. Footsteps padding closer in the darkness, heavy thumps of a large creature as it moved. Not a person, Maria thought wildly, it didn’t sound like a person but some kind of large beast. A demon or monster stalking the tunnels. 

The growl that cut through the silence succeeded only in terrifying her, not shocking her. Maria wished, desperately, that Dorian hadn’t extinguished the light. Whatever lurked in the darkness could see them, smell them, hear them and they were blind. Maria slowly dropped her hands to her waist, to the pistol holstered there, trying to sense movement in the darkness. 

The growl became a snarl right as her hand touched the grip of her pistol. Dorian muttered something under his breath and the orb burst to life above them again, brighter than before, the light as strong as the shadows and just as blinding. Maria heard something yelp. 

Then she heard the click of metal on metal, the roar of flames. Her eyes adjusted to the brightness, the glare of the red lyrium studded walls. Just in time for a shaggy black hound to knock her backwards, pistol flying across the concrete. One giant paw held her to the ground and sharp, white teeth lunged for her throat. 

“Sparkler, stop!” 

“Loki! Heel!” 

The spoken command made the beast reconsider ripping her throat out, but it didn’t move off her chest. She could see nothing above and beyond it, but the voice calling Dorian  _ sparkler _ that… 

“Varric!” She yelled back. She was greeted with silence, then Dorian’s muttered exclamation. 

“By Andraste’s tits, what happened to you?” Maria didn’t like the disorientation in Dorian’s voice. She didn’t like the tension in the air. 

She  _ really _ didn’t like that Varric wasn’t answering her. 

“Varric?” She heard that soft, feminine voice ask quietly. It sounded much less commanding when not ordering the huge dog around. 

“I don’t know.” Varric sounded  _ lost _ , he sounded empty. “It can’t be. It has to be demons or a trick.” 

“Demons?” Dorian repeated as if Varric had just called his mother a whore. “I never…” 

“They’re not demons.” The woman spoke calmly, closer now. “I can feel…” 

Maria finally saw her as the woman dropped to her knees. She had shoulder length brown hair braided nearly off to one side and the brightest blue eyes Maria had ever seen. She shoved the dog lightly until he backed off and Maria felt like she could finally breathe again. 

Lightning fast, the woman’s thin fingers reached into Maria’s coat and pulled out the card, the one she’d placed there the night before when Varric told her to keep it for luck. The woman flipped it over and stared at it, emotions flying across her pale features. Raw, utter devastation. Unending anger. And longing, underneath all of it, grief and longing. In a moment, the woman’s youthful features weighed themselves down into those of someone hundreds of years old. 

Maria pushed herself up onto her hands, finally taking in the scene illuminated by roiling flames and flickering orbs of lights playing across the ceiling like an ocean. Dorian stood just behind Maria, pen pointed towards the dog in warning. The woman beside her was standing in a graceful, fluid motion, turning to a figure just on the edge of the shadows…

Maria realized in that moment that if she knew him like this, she’d know him anywhere. Varric’s rough stubble couldn’t hide bruises and scars that hadn’t been there the last time she saw him. He still wore that leather coat, the one she always associated with him, and a shirt unbuttoned almost to indecency, but they hung looser on a frame that looked too thin. 

Old. Frail. Beaten. Nothing like the man she’d just sat beside, but he was staring at her. Staring at her with desire and warmth, exactly the way he had the night before when he said he’d take her anywhere she wanted, hide her, save her exactly the same way he implied he saved…

“Hawke.” Varric didn’t rip his eyes from Maria’s, but it wasn’t her name in his mouth. Tinged with wild desperation, the other woman’s name sounded like a prayer. 

Hawke gave a bitter half-laugh and turned the card in her hand, raising one eyebrow cynically and displaying the Lovers to Varric. He finally managed to rip his eyes from Maria’s to take in the card with a blank, disbelieving gaze.

“I told you I lost it.” He muttered, dazed. 

“You neglected to say you lost it in your Herald’s pocket, you ass.” Hawke reached down, extending the long elegant fingers of her other hand, all except her thumb which pressed a zippo lighter tightly into her palm. “Maria Cadash, you’re just in time.” 

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but she asked anyway. “In time for what?” 

Something unearthly crackled in Hawke’s blue eyes, something terrible and wonderful, lightning in a bottle. She grinned a wide, toothy smile that didn’t reach those stormy eyes when she answered. “Last call, I expect.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VARRIC YOU SHOULD HAVE KISSED HER WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE.


	24. The Way the World Ended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric didn't save her and the world ended.   
This may not be real, but Maria doubts she'll ever forget it.

Varric Tethras watched Maria Cadash die, then he watched the world veer at full speed towards apocalypse. At first, the two things seemed unrelated. Maria’s fate a tragedy, the start of a string of ill luck and bad omens. She’d been thirty when she was struck down, leaving no body. No trace. 

It wasn’t until later where he began to pinpoint that moment as the beginning of the end. Maybe it was folly to think the so-called Herald of Andraste could have saved Thedas. Particularly when the Maker didn’t deign to step in and save her. If the fucking creator wouldn’t reach down and deliver his own, what chance did the rest of them have? 

Except, for a dead woman, Maria Cadash looked damn good. Exactly the way he remembered her, in fact, which surprised him. In the year since she died, Varric half-convinced himself he remembered her wrong, remembered her with rose colored glasses and a storyteller’s gift for exaggeration. Her hair couldn’t have been as red as he thought, her eyes couldn’t have been that striking, her little half smile hadn’t been that enchanting. The woman he conjured at night in his dreams was a stand-in for the real one, a bright representation of a kinder world full of impossible what-ifs and should-haves. 

But if anything, time had dimmed her in his memories. The woman Hawke hoisted off the ground was no mere pale ghost of his daydreams, but vibrant and alive in the flickering flames above her. Her mere presence was enough to rattle open all the boxes inside him he thought he slammed shut. 

He didn’t save her. He didn’t save her, and he  _ should  _ have. Hawke’s cards said Varric was supposed to save her and he failed. He fucking failed. 

Maria glared at the dog that bowled her over. Loki responded, as he usually did, by letting his tongue loll out the side of his mouth and panting. It was, Varric knew, the best apology anyone was going to get from the mutt. Maria frowned in response and looked past the massive hound, back to him like she couldn’t look away. 

“Varric?” When she said his name this time, it was softer, more cautious. Almost pleading. 

He needed to get it together. He needed to say something to her.  _ Anything _ . So he went to his favorite line of defense, a sarcastic drawl. “Nice of you to join us, Princess.” 

His voice sounded rough to his own ears, sandpaper and gravel, but it sent a wave of relief over her face regardless. She opened her mouth to say something, shut it again at a loss for words, expressive eyes sliding over his scarred face, his malnourished frame. 

He suddenly wished he had taken the time to shave that morning instead of simply accepting second-day stubble for expediency’s sake. 

“What happened to you?” Maria’s horrified whisper was barely audible. 

“Maria.” He hadn’t said her name out loud in ages. Her real name, at any rate. She was always the Herald when they spoke, as if nobody could bear to remember they’d lost a real person instead of some mythical figurehead. Like they could forget how vibrant and alive she’d been before she suddenly wasn’t. 

But he had forgotten how her name felt in his mouth, the way the syllables rolled off his tongue like a well-loved prayer. But that one word, her name, was the only thing he felt capable of saying. He stared at her helplessly. She looked back, eyes growing more and more wary as the silence stretched on. 

“Long story short.” Hawke rushed to save him without a thought, two fingers still pinching that card so hard he could see her hand shaking. “You’re remarkably well-preserved for a woman who died a year ago. Like something you see on an internet ad, you know? Dermatologists hate her…” 

And as usual, Varric wasn’t sure if Hawke was helping or hurting the situation. He winced, but before he could try and figure out how to salvage it, Maria sputtered out one sentence. “Dead a year?” 

“Oh.” Dorian said softly, a far away look clouding his too-handsome face. “Oh, that isn’t good.” 

“This the Vint?” Hawke jabbed her thumb over her shoulder, making a rather dangerous level of eye contact with Varric. “The not-quite-Magister?” 

“But… but I was just…” Maria reached up one hand to run her fingers through her blood red hair, the gesture enough to almost bring him to tears. Yes. He’d watched enough stolen clips of her in the year she’d been gone to recognize that gesture. He still managed to yank his eyes from her enough to level a warning glance at Hawke. One he hoped told her, clearly, to behave herself. 

Hawke, as she frequently did, ignored him. She whipped around, fist curling on the zippo she held. In one lightning fast strike, she landed a solid punch on Dorian’s impressive jawbone. The witch reeled back in shock, sputtering Tevene curses, his bird taking flight uttering appalled caws. Hawke unclenched her fist and flexed her fingers while venom dripped from her lips. “That’s for getting us into this mess.” 

“You cretin!” Dorian exclaimed. “What in the Maker’s name…” 

“Time magic!” Hawke seethed. “You Magisters can’t fucking leave anything alone.” 

“Oh excuse us for not locking up all our witches in dismal little cells!” Dorian still held his jawbone. “How dare we pursue scholarly research…” 

“Scholarly research?!” Hawke lacked at least six inches of Dorian’s height, but Varric knew that look. It was the look Hawke had right before things started going up in flames. “Scholarly research that brought about the fucking apocalypse!” 

“I tried to stop it!” Dorian drew himself up to his full height and glared pointedly down his nose. “I know who you are  _ Champion _ . You took your vigilante boyfriend and you hid when the war  _ you _ caused broke out!” 

“My vigilante boyfriend?” Hawke’s eyes grew cold as ice, her voice lowered to a soft hiss. Varric swore he could smell sulphur.

“That’s enough!” Maria elbowed in between them and glared up at both of them in return, her gray eyes sparking. Despite her own lack of height, both humans took a step back and fixed their gaze on her. Maria’s breath came hard and she shook her head to clear it. “We can argue about whose fault it is after we know what the  _ fuck _ happened.”

“Temporal and spatial displacement.” Dorian offered immediately. “Alexius didn’t just mean to kill you, he wished to erase you from the timeline. I deflected the attack, and for some reason, we were drawn to this time, this place…” 

“To me.” Hawke snapped, looking down at the card in her hand before her shoulders sagged in defeat. Varric watched her trace the shape of The Lovers before Hawke met Varric’s eyes. Her voice lowered in defeat. “It’s my card. It was coming back to me.” 

Her card. And Broody’s. It seemed cruel it made its way back to Hawke now. The same way it cut deeply that Maria was finally here. Now. When there was hardly anything left to fight for  _ besides _ her memory. 

"The watch!" Dorian exclaimed, turning to Maria. "If I were to get it from Alexius, we could reverse the enchantment. We could go back to  _ our _ time." 

"That's… that sounds impossible." Varric broke in. 

"Your time." Hawke murmured softly without looking up. "Before this. Before all of this." 

Before the death of almost all their friends. Before Fenris and Bethany died screaming. Before…

"There's bigger problems than Alexius. Some… creature they call the Elder One. It... shit. We don't know what it is." Varric broke in with a painful shrug. 

He hadn’t imagined Maria’s bravery, hadn’t projected that quality onto her without reason. He watched it now, saw her choke back fear and tip her chin up in determination while she clenched her hands into fists. “What happened?” She asked, eyes fixed on him with blazing strength and endless will. 

Varric could almost believe it would be alright again. Almost. “You died." Varric began, slowly. "We tried, but we couldn't find anyway to close the vortex without you. Solas vanished. Then… well, nobody was prepared for the army of demons that showed up in the west. Maybe we could have held it off, but Orlais… their prime minister was assassinated. They didn't have a leader, we didn't have you, and…" 

He shrugged hopelessly. "We've been fighting on the losing side since."

"We?" She asked. Varric couldn't bear to see the glimmer of hope on her face, not when he'd watched it die on so many other ones.

"I'm afraid there aren't many of us left." Hawke broke in, ripping her eyes from the card in her hand. "In fact, you're looking at half of a rather slapstick rescue operation."

The old radio at her hip crackled and Hawke reached for it. The thick static nearly eclipsed the Nevarran accented voice coming through, clipped and stern. "Champion we have located an entrance that appears safe in the northwestern tunnels."

Hawke kept her eyes on Maria as she hit the button to respond. "Right. On our way and we're bringing unexpected guests." 

"Reinforcements?" The Seeker asked suspiciously. 

"Better." Hawke stated evenly, lyrium blue eyes flashing intently to Dorian. "A second chance." 

Before the Seeker could respond, Hawke dropped the radio back to her waist. Varric shook his head at the manic gleam in her eye. "Hawke this is…" 

"Impossible." Hawke supplied.

"Batshit crazy." He corrected. 

Maria's abbreviated short of laughter showed she agreed with him one hundred percent. Hawke fished in her pocket for the too familiar deck of cards. Varric fought the urge to slap them out of her hand. 

"I was wrong." She muttered angrily, flicking her eyes ruefully to Maria. "I saw… in the cards I saw you could be saved but there wasn't a chance."

Varric hadn’t saved her. He replayed that day over and over in his mind, came up with hundreds of ways to save her, but he hadn’t. Maria died. Maria always died. Until now. Until here. 

"I'm sorry, are those tarot cards?" Dorian scoffed, folded his arms across his chest. "I didn't realize we had time for Rivaini smoke and mirrors. Please, go on. I've always wanted to know the initials of my true love."

"Shut up." Hawke snarled, fanning the cards out in her hands and proffering them to Maria. The madness was back, the one Varric saw more and more often. It flickered over Hawke's pixie like features like fire. "Pick one." 

"I don't…" Maria shook her head, frowning, a worried glance thrown over Hawke’s shoulder at him. 

"Pick. One." Hawke demanded insistently. Maria shot a doubtful glance at Dorian, who sighed wearily, but she reached forward anyway. She frowned as she pulled not one, but two cards free. 

"They're stuck together." 

"Of course they are." Hawke pulled the rest of the cards away and watched while Maria flipped over two. Varric couldn't see them from where he stood, but when Hawke's shriek of hysterical laughter echoed off the tunnel he knew what they were, knew before she grabbed them from Maria's hand and displayed them like trophies. 

In Hawke's hand, the Hanged Man and the Knight of Swords stared accusingly at him. 

Like the last time he didn’t save Maria Cadash. But maybe Hawke hadn't been wrong. Maybe, just maybe, she'd been early. 

"Come on then, Herald." Hawke offered cheerfully, folding all the cards back up in her deck. "We're taking you back home." 

xx

The red lyrium grew worse the further into the tunnels they delved. It illuminated their faces in a terrible red glow, the heat sweltering. The silence weighed heavily, but Maria knew better than to try and lift it with awkward small talk. Dorian, apparently, never learned that lesson. 

"So, will I be meeting your paramour? Do want to make sure I'm prepared to dodge any assassination attempts." 

Maria saw Hawke's back stiffen, caught the sympathetic glance Varric shot up at her. Still, Hawke's voice was clear and steely when she spoke. "No."

"Shame that. It was sure to be interesting." Dorian tapped his pen irritably against his jaw line. 

Hawke's jaw clenched and she didn't say a word. Maria saw her grip go white knuckled around the lighter she held. In the red glow, Hawke's mouth opened into a small o, but no sound came out. Her eyes screamed, though. And Maria knew that look. 

"Dorian. Maybe focus on coming up with a workable plan?" She requested anxiously, hunching her own shoulders. She didn't miss the grateful look Varric sent her way.

She couldn't miss anything about Varric. Not the way he moved, the sound of his voice, the way he watched her like he'd never seen anything more miraculous in his life.

Like he feared she'd vanish every time he looked away. 

The radio on Hawke's hip squawked again. The static nearly hid the voice on the other end, the words indecipherable. Hawke put it close to her pale lips and hit the button. “Gonna need to repeat that.” 

The only answer was more static, a haunting voice layered underneath it, too distorted to be understood. Hawke swore under her breath and shook her head, glaring pointedly at the red lyrium studding the tunnel. “It’s this shit. Distorts the signal.” 

“I’m assuming we simply can’t call them?” Dorian asked. 

Maria’s hand dived into her pocket without a second thought, pulling her own cell phone from within. The bright light of the screen was almost blinding, but she didn’t have any service and the date and time still showed what it  _ should _ have showed.

“Haven’t had cell services in months.” Varric’s frown deepened. “We haven’t had most technology for ages. You’ll see why.” 

“Listen, there’s something you should know.” Hawke stated briskly, meeting and holding Maria’s eyes. “Your sister is with the Seeker.” 

Maria’s immediate reaction was that her sister was in Haven, safe and  _ furious _ with Cole beside her. Maria left her just that morning. Her sister couldn’t be here, that didn’t make any sense, Bea didn’t belong  _ here _ . 

“She’s not well.” Varric’s voice was too gentle and Maria could hardly hear him past the internal alarm bells screaming in her head. 

“What?” It was the first thing she could think to say. “What do you mean not well? What’s wrong with her? Why is she here?” 

“She didn’t want to be left alone.” Hawke murmured quietly. Varric sighed and shook his head. 

“This shit.” Varric gestured to the spikes of poison lyrium. “They grow it, using people. Being around it is enough to drive a person mad, but being infected… it’s not pretty. There was an ambush, the Venatori took Bea, Bethany, and Fenris. We got them back but…” 

“We didn’t get them all back.” Hawke snapped immediately, face frozen in that mask of grief and rage. At her heel, her massive dog whimpered. 

“Fenris died before we got there. Bethany and Bea were infected by then, but we got them out. Bea… she’s held up better than Sunshine did. Don’t know why. That fabled dwarven resistance to magic? Hell, she may just be more stubborn.” Varric shrugged uncomfortably, barely able to meet Maria’s eyes. “But she’s… she’s not the same.” 

Dread settled in Maria’s stomach. She hadn't finished Tale of the Champion, but she knew what the red lyrium did to Bartrand Tethras. "What do you mean?"

Varric and Hawke shared a look Maria didn't like at all, one that made her spine stiffen and her hands clench into tight fists. The radio crackled again, and this time Maria  _ could _ make out a voice in the static. It drifted, hauntingly familiar, over the white noise on the airway. 

It was Bea. She'd know her voice anywhere, even with the haunting, echoing quality cutting underneath the static, singing a chillingly off key chorus.

"Come on baby, don't fear the reaper… baby take my hand and don't fear the reaper…" 

The voice trailed off and Maria reached forward to wrench the radio out of the raven haired witch's hand, but Hawke pulled it closer to her lips, pressing the button to speak. "Beatrix." Hawke snapped. "Focus." 

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Then a soft hiss. "Do you see the one with the face?"

Hawke pinched her nose and exhaled deeply before she snapped into the radio again. "What face? Where the hell is the Seeker?" 

"It's staring at you. It sees the smoke beneath your skin. Ashes and fire and sparks and…"

"I can't fucking talk to her when she's like this." Hawke exploded and thrust the radio, not into Maria's grasping hands but toward Varric. She snatched at it the same moment Varric reached for it, both their fingers wrapping around the cheap plastic. 

“Let me talk to her.” Maria begged, unable to contain her desperation. Varric’s grip didn’t loosen and he shook his head sadly.

“Listen, if she hears you she’s… she’s gonna think it’s a hallucination. Best case scenario is she’s gonna ignore you. Worst case… hell if I know. She’s had some bad days lately. I can get her to make sense.” 

“She’s my sister.” Maria couldn’t keep the knife edge of desperation out of her voice. The barely concealed panic. She was her baby sister and she’d promised Nanna, she’d promised her father that she’d keep Bea safe and…

“I know, Princess. I know.” Varric reached forward with his other hand, calloused fingers gently prying hers away from the radio. “Trust me.”

Against her better judgement she let go and she watched Varric take a deep steadying breath before he pressed the button on the radio with feigned nonchalance. “What’s this face look like, Mittens?” 

A brief moment of silence, then an answer. “She must have tried to run. There’s nowhere left though. You know what they do to the ones that try and get away.” 

Varric’s shoulders tightened. “I know. Which way do we go when we get there?” 

“To the Seeker.” Bea replied like it was obvious, despite Hawke rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Varric the song changed. It’s loud but different.” 

Varric inclined his head forward and Hawke stalked off forward, but Maria stuck to Varric’s side, eying the radio nervously as they delved further into the red lit darkness. Varric sighed softly, stroking the radio and shaking his head. “Bea sings because she’s trying to drown out… whatever the fuck she hears in her head now. She says it’s a song.” 

“There’s a cure.” Maria’s heart thudded uncomfortably in her throat. There had to be. Something that could be done, some way to…

She couldn’t let Bea go the same way Nanna had, slipping into madness as the cancer ate away at her bones. 

“There isn’t.” Varric eyed Hawke’s back anxiously. “It…” 

The radio crackled, Bea’s voice incomprehensible in the static, but clearly distressed. Varric lifted the radio back up to his lips and quipped into it immediately. “If you need song ideas, I’m in the mood for something a bit more upbeat.” 

A bright burst of laughter, haunting and sharp, cut through the static before vanishing into eerie, troubling silence. Varric sighed and Maria fought the urge to rip the radio from his hand. “Why is she here?” Maria demanded furiously. 

“There wasn’t anywhere else to go.” Varric insisted, frowning at her. He opened his mouth, closed it quickly in the face of her accusatory stare. He shook his head sadly, lips tipping into a sad, small smile. “Would you believe I tried to keep her safe, Princess? Thought it was the absolute least I could do if I couldn’t save you.” 

“I didn’t need saved.” Maria seethed, ignoring the rush of… something in her chest. Something that ached like a wound. Something that quivered both nervously and hopefully. Her hands trembled and she clenched them into fists to stop them. 

“Obviously.” Hawke chimed in brightly, thumb clicking the zippo in her hand open, then closed. Open, closed. Her eyes rolled constantly, warily, from side to side as she swaggered down the red lyrium tunnel. 

The radio crackled, Maria heard just a snatch of a note quavering in Bea’s echoing voice. Then Hawke stopped short as it faded into silence. “Well. Shit. Guess we found crazy Bea’s face.” 

“Don’t call her that.” Maria snapped to Hawke’s back. Hawke shrugged only semi-apologetically and stepped to the side, revealing the end of the hallway, the tunnel splitting into two directions. But dead in the center of the wall, a horrifying face leered out of the wall. It had, at one point in time, been human. Now… a spike of red lyrium lanced through an eerily empty eye socket. Lank dark hair hung matted over the other one, hiding all but the barest glimmer of a pupil stuck, ever seeing in death. 

The same way Fynn’s had been. The same way her father’s had been. Maria’s stomach dropped somewhere to her knees and she looked away, alarmed. Not before her traitorous eyes found the rest of the skeleton, impaled grumesomely by red lyrium, bits of the body being eclipsed by the deadly shards. 

“Shit.” Varric sighed in weary resignation. “How long do you think this one lasted?” 

“Someone  _ left a person _ like this?” Dorian echoed, horrified. Maria’s skin prickled in dread. Hawke simply shrugged again, shaking her head. 

_ She must have tried to run. _

Varric pulled the radio back up to his lips, his voice calm and steady even as he stared down the body on the wall. “Which way at the face, Mittens?”

“Hmm?” Bea answered, distracted. 

“Face. Tunnels.” Varric repeated genially. “We’d really enjoy spending less time staring at the ugly present the Venatori left us, so if you can let us know which way to turn sometime before I need to shave again…” 

“He should have shaved yesterday.” Hawke whispered conspirtorially towards Maria, a stage whisper meant to carry. “But, you know, when the world is ending it’s so hard to remember to dress to impress.” 

She couldn’t help the flicker of a smile, but it vanished as soon as she heard Bea’s voice, normally so confident, tremble as she repeated something, a mantra of some sort. “My name is Beatrix Cadash. I’m twenty-nine years old. I grew up in Ostwick, in the Free Marches. I left Ostwick and I went to Haven because my sister…” 

Bea’s voice cracked. Varric cut in smoothly, his eyes meeting and holding Maria’s own as he coached Bea through the radio. “Your sister tripped right into trouble.” 

“Tits first.” And for a moment, Bea almost sounded like herself. “Like always. Yes. The face. Left, left until… until… fuck, Varric.” 

The radio crackled. Varric shook it, irritated, but his voice was still calm and gentle when he answered. “You’re doing good. Stay with us.” 

“I don’t know what’s worse.” Hawke hunched her shoulders defensively. “When she’s mad, or when she comes back and she knows she’s losing it.” 

They lost the radio again when they descended further into tunnels so thick with red lyrium that they had no choice but to inch past the glowing shards as cautiously as possible. Sweat beaded at the back of her neck, dripped uncomfortably down her shirt, and tendrils of hair stuck to her forehead. 

She swore the shit  _ sang _ A song she knew, but couldn’t quite remember. Something from her childhood, maybe? A lullaby her mother sang before she died? Or maybe something Nanna used to hum under her breath when she made tea in the morning. Maria knew there was a sharp, vibrating sound from regular lyrium if you stopped and listened close enough, a high note that carried on and caused stray dogs to howl. 

Not this. Not this eerie melody that tickled the edges of her memory, that reminded her of haunted rooms and death. 

“Anything, Varric?” Hawke asked quietly.

“Static, static, and…” Varric grunted while he slid underneath a spike of lyrium. “Shockingly, more static.” 

“If I wanted a smartass answer…” 

“You’d have answered your own question?” 

There was an easy cadence, a rhythm to their banter that felt more important than the words themselves. She wished she could pay better attention to it. She wished…

She wished she’d open her damn eyes and find that she’d tripped over her own damn feet and knocked herself unconscious. Anything to get Bea’s haunted, trembling voice out of her ears and Varric’s aged face out of her head. 

“This isn’t real, you know.” Dorian soothed optimistically. “This is merely… a blip! One we will soon put behind us.” 

“Feels awfully real to me.” Hawke muttered under her breath. Maria agreed wholeheartedly. Even if they left, even if somehow they got back to where and when they were supposed to be, how was she supposed to forget this? 

Hawke stopped short, spotting the same shadow appearing on the wall around the corner that Maria did. Instantly, the zippo in her hand burst into flame and Varric slipped himself between it and Maria, shotgun ready. The shadow paused as well, wary, before a familiar voice called out. “Champion? Varric?” 

Hawke’s shoulders relaxed an inch and Varric lowered his gun. The zippo extinguished itself. “Seeker.” Hawke drawled playfully. “Boy do we have a surprise for you.” 

The lanky form that slipped around the corner, gun cocked carefully but aimed at the ground, didn’t look amused. Seeker Pentaghast, still recognizable with longer, choppier hair and a trio of wicked scars across her entire face, scowled and opened her mouth, her eyes moving from Hawke, to Varric, then landing on Maria.

She froze, gun lifting on instinct, a startled cry of shock slipping from her pale lips. Maria swore she thought the gun shook in Cassandra’s hands. “No! It cannot be, it cannot… is it you? Is it truly…?” 

“Why are you always pointing a gun at me?” Maria asked, ignoring the reverent hopefulness in Cassandra’s eyes, the sheer joyful amazement. 

“In the flesh, Seeker.” Varric’s tired features rearranged themselves into his own small, hopeful smile. “And, you’re not gonna believe this, but with a plan for a do-over.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS!
> 
> Sorry - shit has been insane here! I was in a car accident and had to take some time to recover, but I'm all good and glad to be back to work! 
> 
> I'm hoping to get all three stories updated before the end of the year, then regularly as time goes on!


	25. The Gates of Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Varric wants is a fighting chance.   
All Maria wants is to protect her family.

It shouldn’t have made Varric as nervous as it did, especially after a year trailing after the Seeker while the world fell to pieces around their ears, but when Cassandra barked out an order for Varric and the Champion to follow her for a private discussion… 

Varric couldn’t help but be a bit worried he was about to emerge with a black eye he really didn’t need. He had troubles enough, thank you. Instead, the Seeker leaned in over Varric’s head, bringing her eyes level to Hawke’s. Their little huddle must have looked odd to Maria and Dorian, left several paces behind, just far enough for their little trio’s whispers not to carry. 

“She is real?” The Seeker’s voice, normally so steady despite everything they had seen, shook. “She… she is no demon?” 

“If she’s a demon, she’s not like any I’ve ever seen.” Hawke admitted guilelessly. “I never  _ met _ her, Seeker, so I can’t vouch for her personal authenticity. I will admit she’s… different from everyone else. But she survived that damn vortex hexed, didn’t she? That magic  _ has _ to linger.” 

“She’s the real deal.” Varric was certain. He hadn’t been more certain of anything in a long time. He’d seen demons take Maria’s shape to torment him, to torment Beatrix and Cole and Iron Bull, and it hadn’t been anything like this. This Maria was knit of flesh and bone, vibrant in this hellscape. “I’d vouch for her.” 

“That Vint witch says if he can get to Alexius’s focus, that damn watch, he can undo the magic and take them back. If they go back…” Hawke trailed off, eyes blazing. 

If they went back,  _ everything _ could change. If Maria never died in Redcliffe, if she sealed the vortex with the help of the witches, if she returned in triumph to Haven with a cheerful grin and her red hair flying… 

“There is no guarantee.” Cassandra frowned, let her eyes flick above Varric’s head to take in the miraculous figure behind them. “We thought she could have closed the vortex, but even if she had…” 

The demon army. The political chaos of Orlais. Could Maria Cadash have stopped  _ all  _ of that? But… no vortex growing above their heads, no cracks spreading under their feet with demons leaking into their world. 

Hell, it may have given them a bit of a fighting chance. And if anyone could have rallied Thedas against the storm, wouldn’t it have been the Herald of Andraste? 

“She wasn’t supposed to die in Redcliffe.” Hawke whispered. Varric watched her left hand dive into her coat pocket, saw it curl around her deck of cards. “I  _ knew _ she wasn’t supposed to die here. If she hadn’t…” 

If Varric had saved her. Varric met Cassandra’s eyes in silent, mutual grief. If  _ they _ had saved her like they should have, saw her through like they promised they would… 

“If it can be undone.” Cassandra’s eyes were beginning to blaze the same way Hawke’s were, but the skepticism still spilled from her lips. “If it can be set right, why have you not seen it?” 

“I see it now!” Hawke argued hotly, gesticulating wildly above her head. A trail of sparks fell from her fingertips and Varric swore, slapping them out when they landed on his jacket. Hawke ignored him. “It’s not my damn fault Tevinter time magic made the future  _ more _ nebulous than it already was!” 

“She’s got a point, Seeker.” Although she  _ really _ needed to work on her temper. Varric wondered just how much of Hawke’s rant carried behind them, so he chanced a glance over his shoulder, only to meet gray eyes  _ searing _ into him. 

For a second, he forgot how to breathe. 

He smiled, reflexively, held up one finger in Maria’s direction. She rolled those stunning eyes impatiently and Varric swore he heard Dorian invoke a rather obscene part of Andraste’s anatomy. Varric turned back to the Seeker and Hawke, lowered his voice. “I think we’re all in agreement that if we’ve got a chance, this is  _ going _ to happen. The question is, how the fuck are we going to manage?” 

“More important question.” Hawke’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, but there was a flash of her old mischievous sense of humor around the corners of her lips. “When are you going to tell her?” 

“Oh for the love of…” Varric couldn’t help the exasperation, but he also couldn’t help but feel comforted by it. Exasperated by Hawke, simple. Easy and refreshingly normal, like nothing had been for a long damn time. “Is this really the time to be thinking like Rivaini?” 

“I watch you  _ pine _ over a dead woman for a damn year, she comes back from the grave, and you’re telling me…” 

“We shouldn’t have brought Beatrix.” Cassandra snapped, interrupting what Varric was sure would have been an entertaining rant about his personal life delivered with both panache and style. The Seeker pinched her nose with her fingers and closed her eyes tightly before repeating herself. “We should have done something else.” 

Hawke and Varric exchanged a tense look. They’d only brought Beatrix on this rescue mission because they all, quite rationally, expected it to be a suicide run. When you were making one of those, as Hawke had said cheerfully before leaving, you took all the guns you had even if one of them was prone to misfiring. Bea still had enough sanity rattling around in her skull to probably not be a danger to herself or any of them. Probably. Hopefully. 

Plus, the thought of leaving Maria’s beloved sister all alone, to die slowly from the red lyrium in her veins when they never returned… it had been too much for Varric to face. He suspected the Seeker felt the same way, although he understood why Hawke couldn’t look at the other woman without seeing Bethany’s face those last excruciating days before she finally lost her own battle with the poison running through their veins.

Sunshine, he thought morosely, had deserved better. So had Fenris. Varric, in his head, rationalized it was better for Bea to go with them, to die quickly, at least. Unlike the other two. But if they’d known that Maria would show up, if they’d known that this may still be a suicide run, but one with the very weight of the world on their shoulders… 

“I can handle it.” Varric grit his teeth together. “I can convince her to hold it together.” 

Maker, he hoped he could. He needed to, somehow. Hawke’s frown deepened and she opened her mouth. “Varric, think. If Bea was herself, if she knew what was going on, would she want us to risk…” 

No. No, she wouldn’t, but Varric couldn’t think of that now. He shook his head briskly. “It’s not negotiable, and if you think Maria is going to let us leave her behind…” 

“She would not.” Cassandra sighed, wiped her hands on her jeans. “Varric is correct. We must hope for the best.” 

Hawke blinked, shocked. “You’re agreeing with  _ Varric? _ Shit, it must be the end of the world.” 

Varric couldn’t help it, he snorted with a burst of undignified laughter as Cassandra glared at the two of them stiffly. Then, the Seeker soldiered on, ignoring the splotchy redness crawling up the skin of her neck. “Alexius is in the thirteenth floor of the hotel. We suspected Leliana was being held in the building, but on one of the lower floors. Our plan can still hold with modifications.” 

It hadn’t been much of a plan, but it was all they had. Cassandra continued, thoughtful, “The Herald was a talented shot and a brave woman. It will be easier with her, and if Dorian is as good at magic as he claimed…” 

A fighting chance. They could have a fighting chance. It was better than the odds they started with, anyway. 

“Oh, don’t mind us!” Dorian, it appeared, couldn’t contain himself any longer. “We simply  _ adore _ being the topic of hushed conversations. It’s like being back in Minrathous all over again.” 

“Maybe we could come up with another plan?” Hawke suggested hopefully. “One that  _ doesn’t _ rely on the Magister?” 

Cassandra and Varric simply looked at her until Hawke’s shoulders slumped. At her feet, Loki barked unhappily as if in agreement. She shared a baleful look with the dog before turning on her heel and heading back towards Maria and Dorian. 

Varric agreed with that look. Fenris, Maker help him, was spinning in his grave. Regardless, it was time to get the show on the road. He turned back and found Maria’s eyes continuing to bore into him, like she could see down to the shattered pieces of his soul, through the grief and guilt, past the trauma to something  _ more _ . 

One year. One year was all it took to convince himself he’d been on the precipice of  _ something _ with Maria Cadash. One year to begin to consider her the biggest “what if” of a life full of them. 

She’d been back with them for less than an hour, and now he knew. There had been no precipice, only the fall, and he’d have fallen with or without her. But that wasn’t for him to tell her, not now. That was for a different man, a different time, an entirely different life.

“Let’s grab your sister and head out, Princess.” He stated lightly, but firmly. She nodded and their group dove into the darkness. 

When they finally first heard Bea’s voice drifting down the tunnel, Varric felt Maria stiffen beside him. The song lyrics fell, trembling, into the eerie silence. Varric could see light flashing erratically in the darkened space they approached. The tunnel emptied into a cavernous space, what once was meant to be a subway station he assumed. In the center of that space a lone figure stood, tossing and catching a flashlight repeatedly as she sang. In the wobbling light, Varric could see her eyes glued to the ceiling above them. 

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star…” Bea’s voice curled in the echoing silence. 

Maria made a noise in her throat, but it was Cassandra who turned and thrust an arm out to stop the Herald from running forwards. “Allow Varric.” She instructed tersely. 

Varric was sure Maria was going to argue, so he pushed forwards instinctively. Bea didn’t look at their approach, didn’t tear her eyes away from the darkness above them. She tossed the flashlight in the air again and Varric darted forward, quick as a snake, to catch it before she could. Without the light bouncing around the room, the space seemed suddenly even larger. The disruption did cause Bea’s glassy, almost empty eyes to turn to him. He still wasn’t sure she saw him. He tapped the light gently against her shoulder. “Mittens, you’re going to give yourself a seizure.” 

The steady light illuminated her, from the old canvas sneakers with frayed laces, up to the old, worn thin bomber jacket and the knit cap pulled down over her frazzled brown curls. Cole’s hat, Maria’s old jacket that she left in Haven when they went to Redcliffe that final day. Bea continued to look at him, blinking red tinged eyes slowly before she shook her head briskly to clear it. Varric nearly choked on the relief as he watched her struggle to come back from wherever she’d gone. He always dreaded the day when she wouldn’t return to them at all. 

“I was wondering how long it was going to take you to limp over here old man.” An insult, a good sign even if her hand reached up to tug the silver chain around her neck too hard. “It’s so fucking loud. It’s so…” 

She didn’t finish, instead biting her lip and folding her arms around herself. Varric heard her hum a note under her breath and he frowned, looked over his shoulder at the group behind him. Damnit, he didn’t have enough time to do this. He needed… 

He didn’t know what the fuck he needed. To go back to the day they lost the three of them, to stop it before it happened, to bring back Fenris, Bethany, Bianca, Cole, Sera, Bull, Merrill, Isabela, Sebastian… 

He could. They could if they could just…

“Hey. So - new plan.” He injected optimism into his voice and reached out, curling his fingers gently around Bea’s upper arm. She frowned intensely at him, but didn’t try to squirm out of his grip. “We’re gonna save the fucking world today, alright?” 

“We can’t.” Bea protested, voice instantly going shrill. “It’s too late. It’s all dying and dead. You can’t hear them but I can and I know, I know, I know…” 

Her eyes swung wildly to the space behind him, her careening gaze dashing recklessly across the small group huddled in the silent darkness. She didn’t see her, not at first, but Varric knew the minute she did. He felt it in the way Bea tensed up, as if waiting for a blow.

“She’s here again.” Bea jerked, nearly out of his grip but he tightened his hold on her to prevent her from running away. “Varric, she’s here again and I can’t…” 

They said Fenris saw Danarius and Hawke as he succumbed. Bethany saw Carver and her mother’s mangled corpse trailing her, but Bea… Bea always hallucinated her sister. And Varric would always tell her, calmly and gently, that it wasn’t her sister. Just the red lyrium making monsters in her mind. 

This time, Varric looked over his shoulder into Maria’s ashen face too. She’d stepped forward, more brave than sensible, one hand reaching out on instinct. Varric squeezed Bea’s shoulders tightly. “Mittens, this time it’s really her.” 

xx

Maria’s heart felt stuck somewhere in her throat. The woman flinching away from her and into Varric couldn’t be her sister, it was impossible. Beatrix Cadash would  _ never _ be caught dead with less than perfect hair, let alone wearing Maria’s old baggy coat. The wraith like figure in front of them was too skinny, too disheveled, too vulnerable to possibly be her sister. Bea belonged to neon lit clubs and loud bass beats, not this haunting melody and cavern of poison. 

She couldn’t hear what they were saying, although Bea’s distress was evident.So too was the warmth between the two of them, the gentle, soothing hush of Varric’s words. The way Bea curled towards him in a way Maria, honestly, had never seen Bea curl towards anyone  _ except _ her and Nanna and dad. 

_ Would you believe I tried to keep her safe, Princess? _

She didn’t. She didn’t until she saw this and now that she had, she didn’t know what to do with the information. She couldn’t make any of this fit, couldn’t piece it together in any way that made sense. 

“Ria?” Bea’s voice cracked and she broke free of Varric’s grip, lurching unsteadily around his form in the darkness. Bea gave off her own, dim, glow. A red halo of heat surrounded her, illuminated her, and when she stretched out her hand Maria could see red veins seared under her sister’s pale skin. 

But those were her sister’s gray eyes, even under the red, and Maria would know them anywhere because they were  _ hers _ and it was  _ her  _ blood in Bea’s veins and  _ her _ cursed luck that led them all to nothing but death and destruction. 

It was her grandmother’s ring circling Bea’s finger. 

And it was Maria’s hand that reached out without a thought, her fingers that tangled with Bea’s, and her voice that cracked on her sister’s name the same exact same way. “Bea, it’s okay. I’m here.” 

“No.” Bea whispered, shaking her head, even as she twisted her fingers tight with Maria’s own. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, red things that looked more thick that they should have, glimmered like crystals before they dropped, leaving red salt in their wake. “No. No, no, no…” 

Maria swallowed bile in her throat and reached out, fingers trembling, to brush a frazzled curl behind Bea’s ear, to reveal more of those bright red lines under her skin, like crow’s feet from her eyes, a mockery of the ones that once lined their grandmother’s. 

“You’re dead.” Bea’s grip was bruising, her eyes glowing. “You’re dead and back with Fynn like you always wanted to be. You left me, you  _ left _ me and it was my fault. It was all my fault.” 

“Bea…” Maria was at a loss, didn’t know what to say, but even saying her sister’s name seemed to be the wrong thing to do. Bea reeled back, instantly furious, venom spitting from her lips.

“Don’t! Don’t you  _ dare _ act like… act like… like it  _ wasn’t _ me. I should have died! I should have been in prison, I should have…” 

Maria’s heart sputtered and she fought the urge to slap her hand over Bea’s mouth, to hiss at her to shut up before Maria  _ made _ her shut up. Instead, she pulled herself up straight. And she channeled every  _ inch _ of their grandmother into her posture. “Beatrix Grace Cadash, if you don’t pull yourself together I swear on our ancestors I will make you regret it.” 

Behind her, Hawke snorted in amusement and muttered under her breath. “ _ Grace _ , that’s fuckin’ excellent.” 

Bea herself seemed stunned into coherence either by the threat or the use of her full name with all the indignant rage of Zarra Cadash behind it. She peered into Maria’s eyes, torn between alarm and a glimmer of hope. She chanced a glance away from Maria over her shoulder to Varric, the beam from the flashlight he held falling over her pale face. It was to him she addressed the tentative, terrible question. “This is real?” 

“Is your middle name  _ really _ Grace?” Varric asked in return. “Because I sure as  _ hell _ didn’t know that, although I certainly wish I would have.” 

Even this didn’t look like it quite convinced her, Bea’s face frozen in a mask of anxious hope and distrust. Maria stepped forward and grabbed Bea’s hand again. “Your name is Beatrix Grace Cadash. We grew up in Ostwick and it was just me, you, and dad.” Maria swallowed, hard. “Nanna lived down the street. Do you remember them? Dad and Nanna?” 

Bea’s free hand rose to the silver chain circling her neck and she pulled it from where it vanished beneath her shirt. Maria watched while the leather badge holder appeared, the shining Ostwick police shield catching the dim light. She could see the letters embossed in it, their last name in gilt. Bea hadn’t touched it in years, hadn’t worn it since she’d been a young girl playing pretend. Instanty, Maria recalled their cramped apartment, the sound of her father’s laughter, his big hands shuffling playing cards at the table, Nanna arranging Bea’s curls over her shoulder fondly. 

Maria felt it all like a punch in her gut. And she could hear her father’s voice booming across time, all the time he reminded Maria to be careful, to watch out, to take care of Bea - to always take care of Bea because there were dangerous things in the city, dangerous people, and her dad would know because he was a cop. 

Maria would become one of those dangerous people. She did it to protect her family when dad couldn’t. 

A vivid memory pulled itself into focus, Bea with her head in her hands, shoulders shaking on the edge of her bed. The smoke curled from an abandoned cigarette and all Maria could think about as she stared at it was how much she could trade it for in lockup, even half-burnt down. She still moved uneasily, still listened for the footsteps of prison guards and the sound of zippers being done up hurriedly. She still ached, like the bullet with her name on it had ended up in her chest instead of Fynn’s. Like she was slowly bleeding out, waiting for the right chance to collapse.

The way she felt so tired, tired in her bones, when she looked at Bea that night and realized she couldn’t. That there was no one left to protect the little family she had left except for her. 

Maria said the same thing she’d said then, the same thing that kept her going through all of it. “It’s alright. I’m here now, I won’t leave you.” 

She saw the flicker of recognition light Bea’s face up from the inside out, even past the sick red lines burned into her skin. Her sister’s face broke into an uneasy, shy, not-quite hopeful smile. Bea’s fingers squeezed hers, firm, and maybe it was foolish but Maria swore she saw her eyes focus clearly on her own. 

“I’ve missed you, you idiot.” 

There was enough fondness in those words to nearly bring tears to Maria’s own eyes, but if she had allowed it she would have missed the small, pleased smile that flitted quickly in the dim light across Varric’s. 

“C’mon, Mittens. I’ve spent enough time down here.” Varric swung the beam of his flashlight forward and pointed it to the opposing wall. “Which way out?” 

“This way.” The Seeker began gruffly, moving past them. Varric trailed after her, their shadows thrown up like puppets on the walls around them. Bea hummed a half note to herself, twining her fingers with Maria’s like they were girls again. 

“C’mon Bea.” Hawke’s voice belonged to a corpse more than a woman, dry and ancient. “I need you to tell me how bad the red shit is before those two fall into a shit ton of it.”

“We’d never get it out of his chest hair.” Bea’s eyes flashed at her own joke, but her smile faltered at whatever she saw on Hawke’s face. Maria chanced a glance over her own shoulder and found herself startled by the dark, intense fury on the other woman’s features. She looked, Maria thought, exactly like a hawk. Exactly like the woman who started a war in Kirkwall, like a creature created to hunt blood witches and demons. 

“Hawke?” Bea questioned, her voice losing some of it’s surety almost as quickly as she gained it. “Hawke, I couldn’t save them.” 

“I know.” Hawke managed to tamp back down whatever had flared to the surface. “C’mon. We’re doing this for your sister now, right?” 

Without waiting for any further assent, Hawke stormed past, curling one long human arm around Bea’s shoulders and twisting her out of Maria’s grip easily. Maria fought the urge to scowl, to demand a fucking  _ second _ with her baby sister. The dog trotted beside the two of them and Hawke turned her head, piercing the darkness behind Maria with a glare so intense she felt the entire room grow warmer. 

“Tell her.” Hawke growled, following the bobbing flashlight. Maria turned, confused, to Dorian and arched an eyebrow up. 

Dorian’s dark eyes looked like an abyss in the meager light as he shook his head sadly. “My dear this… this isn’t real for you.” 

“It  _ is _ .” Maria protested. She could taste it, feel it, smell it. Nyx squawked unhappily on Dorian’s shoulder. 

“It isn’t. You don’t belong to this future, Herald.” Dorian paused, eyeing her nervously. “And you’ll have to leave her behind. You’ll have to leave all of them.” 

At first, the words didn’t compute. Like a computer that had completely frozen, she just stared at him blankly. Then, something dropped into the pit of her stomach. She shook her head immediately. 

“Cadash…” 

“No.” She bit out, turning on her heel. 

She couldn’t. She  _ couldn’t _ leave them. Not after everything she’d done to keep her and Bea together, not after Cassandra looked at her with such hope, not when Varric…

She tamped that thought down like a stray spark and stalked, resolutely, after her people.

When they finally came to the ladder, Maria felt a surge of reckless joy. Out, they’d be  _ out _ , and that was worth a million fucking dollars as far as she was concerned. She couldn’t stand the rotten, inky darkness one minute longer. Cassandra pried open the manhole cover far above them, the creak of it piercing the silence as loudly as a gunshot. Maria’s fingers curled around the grip of her gun, waiting for the inevitable rush of people eager to inspect the noise. Cassandra paused, silhouetted in an eerie half light. 

“Allow Nyx.” Dorian gestured grandly at the bird on his shoulder who seemed to have simply been waiting for the cue. The little ball of feathers nearly took off Cassandra’s nose in it’s rush to get out of the tunnel, darting into open air above them. Cassandra glared down from the ladder into Dorian’s face.

“And if it does not return?” She asked pointedly. 

“Oh, she always does.” Dorian waved away her concern breezily. “Once, I lost her in a wishing fountain for two days. She’d decided to try and pick up all the coins from the bottom and nothing I gave her could lure her away from it.” 

“Well, here’s hoping she’s not distracted by anything shiny.” Varric muttered under his breath.

Bea tugged briskly at the police shield around her neck, frowning down at her scuffed up sneakers. Maria gently reached out and snatched Bea’s fingers away from it before she broke the thing. Bea looked up, met her eyes and reached down, tracing the chain as it disappeared beneath the jacket. 

“All clear then.” Dorian said brightly as Nyx chirped above them. Cassandra huffed and swung her lanky frame out of the manhole. Varric grabbed the rung next and hoisted himself up, then peered back down. 

“Well, it’s a shitty day in the neighborhood, but come on up and see for yourself.” He slung his shotgun over his back and crouched back over the hole. “Mittens, you next.” 

It surprised Maria that Bea reached for the ladder and shimmied up it effortlessly, although it probably shouldn’t have. If Bea could swing around a pole, after all, pulling herself up onto a ladder wasn’t that much of a stretch. She clambered up after Bea and emerged just in time to watch Varric hand her little sister a loaded gun.

“What are you doing?” She hissed, immediately outraged. 

“You’re right.” Bea slyly looked up at Varric from under her lashes, fingers curling around the gun jealousy. “She must be real.” 

“She’s not gonna kill demons with her good looks, Princess.” Varric shrugged, only semi-apologetic. “She’s not a bad shot.”

“Almost as good as her.” Bea grinned, all teeth and red gums, jerking her head toward Maria. Varric shook his head. 

“Wouldn’t go that far.” He qualified, taking a moment to look around the concrete building they found themselves in. Maria glared at the weapon in Bea’s hands, sternly looking up into Bea’s face. 

“Don’t shoot yourself in the fucking foot.” She ordered. Bea’s answering giggled caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand straight up. 

“Right.” Hawke breezed past, dog at her heels. Maria did a double take, looked back down at the ladder where Dorian climbed up, swearing rather elegantly in his pretty language. “So if we went far enough…” Hawke began.

“Wait, how did…?” Maria interrupted, frowning. Varric smirked, a lazy, rakish thing that very nearly lit up the dim room.

“Magic.” He stage whispered and shrugged carelessly. “It’s always fucking magic.” 

Hawke ducked past some odd machinery, tanks, and pipes, making her way to the door and the grimy, cracked window beside it. She pulled her sleeve over her palm and swiped across the dirt and debris. She peered into the dull light outside before sighing. “Balls.” 

“What is it?” Cassandra snapped, instantly at Hawke’s side. Hawke looked over her shoulder wearily. 

“The good news is that we’re inside the gates of Redcliffe.” Hawke quipped, laying her hand reassuringly on her hound’s head.

“And the bad news…?” Maria asked. 

“We’re  _ inside _ the gates of Redcliffe.” Cassandra stated, pounding her fist against the wall beside the window. “Maker preserve us.” 

“I’m assuming that’s bad.” Maria tightened her grip on her pistol automatically. Varric sighed and rubbed the rough stubble of his jaw thoughtfully.

“There are defenses at the gates.” He explained slowly. “It’s why we went through the tunnels in the first place.” 

“But we’re behind them now.” Hawke tapped her fingers against the glass in the window pane thoughtfully. “We could use this. Make a distraction here, draw most of the attention to the gates while we…” 

“Sneak right behind them?” Varric asked. “Tall order here, Hawke.” 

“Go big or go home, right?” Hawke’s grin took on that manic edge. 

“Water.” Bea murmured, letting her fingers reach out to touch the pipe. “It’s poisoned. The red is deep, dark, twisted. It sings in the pipes, in the ground.” 

“Not shocking, but also not helpful.” Hawke sighed, looking around the room thoughtfully. Bea ignored her, trailing her fingers across the pipes, humming under her breath as she traced them across the room, hips swaying to the music in her head. 

“What type of distraction are you thinking?” Cassandra asked briskly. 

“Fire?” Hawke supplied. Varric sighed as if he knew that was going to be the answer. 

“How original.” Dorian drawled. Hawke shot a glare back at him and her dog growled at her heels. 

“There’s nothing to burn here, Hawke.” Varric gestured to the barren room, full of nothing but pipes, concrete, and metal. 

“I wouldn’t say nothing.” Hawke grumbled, eyes still very pointedly latched onto Dorian. 

“They tried to purify the water. Disinfect. Different ways.” Bea continued, eyeing one of the tanks speculatively before tapping it. It made a sound that wasn’t quite hollow and she nodded to herself, sweeping those red tinged eyes around. “UV light, best way. Environmentally friendly. Venatori wouldn’t care, of course. Doubt it would have worked anyway.” 

“Glad to see something from school stuck.” Maria muttered, watching Bea from the corner of her eye as she moved to the window. Her eyes were drawn, immediately, up to the sky.

What was left of the sky, at any rate. It looked like a shattered mirror, inky swirling blackness spreading like cracks across the dreary clouds. Lights flashed, ominously, from within them and Maria felt the bottom of her stomach fall out. 

“When did it…?” She asked, leaning forward and touching her own palm to the window. 

She nearly jumped as Varric’s palm settled on the small of her back, but if he noticed he didn’t remove it or comment on her reaction. Instead, he looked out the window as well with a tight frown.

“After you died.” Varric confessed quietly. “The worst part is that we haven’t had internet in ages. I don’t even want to know how many unread emails I have.”

“Shame that.” Maria said weakly. “There was a new show I really wanted to binge.” 

Varric chuckled quietly. Dorian harrumphed from behind them. 

“I could cast a hex to harness…” 

“If we cast a hex or start cursing things, they’re gonna fucking know they’ve got witches that don’t belong to them hanging around.” Hawke folded her arms over her chest and planted her feet firmly on the ground to stare down Dorian. 

“She has a point, Sparkler. At that point in time, we may as well just start shooting.” Varric’s hand dropped from her back and for a moment, she missed the steady pressure. Until something crashed into the concrete with a heavy metallic thud. All their eyes swung immediately to Bea, her small form standing above a large canister. 

“Andraste’s ass, Bea.” Varric swung forward, exasperated. “Maybe make a little more noise, let them know we’re here.” 

“I would have tried chlorine first.” Bea continued, oblivious. “But it’s hard to get. Harder now. Lots of hospitals have these, though. Easy to steal from the corpses in the wheelchairs.” 

“Have what?” Maria asked as Bea pulled another one of the canisters away from the wall. It rolled forward with a heavy clunk that sent  _ something _ skittering into another dark corner. Maria shuddered in revulsion and stepped back. 

Bea tapped the canister with a wicked, sky smile. “Oxygen is explosive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Varric being bros = like my favorite thing


	26. The Last Person who Loved Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beatrix Cadash makes a sacrifice.   
Varric is the last person alive who loves the Herald.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god. I'm going to have to adjust the tags after this one.
> 
> Heavy gore. Disturbing imagery. Angst. Death. Please don't hate me.

“Do you remember the hospital? It sucked balls.” Bea’s voice a bit louder than anyone wanted, all of them wincing and shooting dismayed looks at the gates behind their backs as they slowly, cautiously, rolled oxygen tanks through the door while Dorian kept watch. 

“I’m sure I can think of shittier things than a hospital, Mittens.” Varric deadpanned in a soft, low voice. “Getting maimed by venatori attempting our daring, logic-defying reset of time itself would be one of them.” 

Bea dropped her tone to match Varric’s, the volume more acceptable as she examined her cracked, dirty nails. “I did my history homework and you had bloody knuckles but you wouldn’t tell me what happened.” 

Maria remembered that day, remembered how angry Bea got at Maria’s stony silence. Maria couldn’t tell her, couldn’t come clean about the midnight lyrium deals she ran for the carta after her shifts at the bar. The thought of confessing how the bills got paid seemed harder than facing Bea’s teenage mutiny or Nanna’s bitter disappointment. She still thought she could hide it then.

“I’m tired of mortality.” Bea’s mocking, wicked grin still could just about light up a room, and really, this wasn’t that different than Bea after smoking three bowls was it? If Maria ignored the red glow, if Maria ignored the putrid stench of death hanging around them, this was just Bea on a drug fueled binge where she waxed the oddest kind of philosophical. “I want to rip out all the red from my veins. I want to  _ feel _ the music in my belly, I want to carve your name in Dwyka’s chest…” 

“Bea.” Maria warned, righting one of the tanks. Hawke shot her a withering look over the tank full of exasperation.

“Welcome to the crazy train.” Hawke muttered. 

“The song means we woke up something that wasn’t meant to be woken up. It’s deep in the red, it lurks in the shadows, it snatches and feeds and…” 

“Beatrix.” Maria reached out, snatched Bea’s thin wrist as her volume began to rise up again. Maria barely slammed her palm over Bea’s mouth in time to muffle the hysterical laughter, her gray-red eyes brimming with mad sparks. Maria waited a beat of her heart, one more, before she removed it with a stern look. 

It shocked her when Bea wrapped her own fingers around Maria’s wrist, one scarred thumb tracing up the arrow lined with her initials and Fynn’s. “They say we can make them all pay for what they did to you. What I did to you.” 

“You didn’t…” 

“Alright, this is going to have to be good enough ladies.” Varric interrupted smoothly, settling the last canister with a pointed look at Bea. “Let’s see if we can hold it together long enough to sneak over to that old apartment building.” 

“From there, it is a simple matter of dodging through the alleys to get to the hotel.” Cassandra frowned tightly. “Perhaps five minutes if we encounter no obstacles?” 

“Which building is this again?” Dorian asked, scanning the long, empty space between them and the nearest buildings. Hawke pointed over his shoulder at the one furthest to the left, the overhang casting the alley beneath it in shadows. Maria watched Dorian’s eyes light up in delight.

“Ah, well that’s easy enough.” Dorian extended his arm down to Maria. “Care for a jaunt? I can slip us right through those charming shadows.” 

“All of us?” Cassandra asked, her brows knitting together. Dorian sighed theatrically and brushed an imagined speck of dust off his shoulder.

“Not at once, of course. That would require expending enough energy to surely have us noticed, but one at a time…” Dorian gestured to the apartment building. “It’s just a short distance, I won’t even break a sweat.” 

“Then I shall go first.” Cassandra declared, snatching Dorian’s hand from the air reprovingly. “To ensure that it is safe.” 

Cassandra, Maria thought, was as charmingly overprotective as ever. Dorian cast a look at Maria, but she nodded and he took Cassandra’s arm instead. “As you wish, Seeker. Do hold your breath.” 

Cassandra wrinkled her nose in disgust, but Maria hardly saw it before the dark shadows surrounding both Dorian and the Seeker began to deepen, began to turn to inky blackness. On instinct more than anything, Maria twisted her wrist to snatch Bea’s arm and haul her away from the portal surrounding the two humans. 

Then, it seemed as if both Dorian and Cassandra dropped into a black hole, vanishing from view with not even a sound. Maria swung her eyes to the opposite side of the gates, peering into the darkness of the apartment building. She saw something move in the shadows there that seemed, suddenly, much darker. Yet, she couldn’t quite make out any forms in the alley. 

“Well, good sign.” Hawke tapped one of the cannisters thoughtfully as she examined the gates above them, the figures up above it with their backs to them. “Cassandra usually starts shouting by now if it’s gone to shit.” 

“So little faith.” Maria nearly jumped out of her skin at Dorian’s deep, warm voice coming from behind her. His tanned hand came to a light, gentle rest on her shoulder. “Your turn, Cadash.” 

Her answer came without thought, without consideration. “Take Bea.” 

“No.” Both Hawke and Varric said, but it was Hawke that stopped to explain. “Bea can sense the monsters if they come. She needs to stay here until we’re out of the woods.” 

“I can open the cans.” Bea tore herself away, reaching tenderly for the canisters. “I can help.” 

“Course you can.” Varric didn’t look at Bea, didn’t look away from Maria’s eyes which she hoped reflected her rising temper. “Princess…” 

He pitched his voice as low as when he soothed Bea and she decided, then and there, she wouldn’t stand for it. She glared at him, putting as much flint into her gaze as she could. “What monsters?” 

“Well, if I have anything to say about it, we won’t be worrying about them at all.” Varric spread his hands out defensively. “You’re the important one here, Princess. Our last chance to hit the undo button.” 

She meant to argue more, she really did. She had all sorts of words bubbling in her chest about how assigning value to people was morally wrong and Maria didn’t leave  _ anyone _ behind, let alone her only family, but when she opened her mouth she saw Varric’s eyes slide over her head to Dorian. 

It was a warning, but it wasn’t enough of one for her to stop what happened next. The shadows were becoming porous around her feet, Maria had just enough time to remember reading about quicksand in her childish adventure books, and how it laid in wait for unwary travelers. Maria’s girlish imagination had conjured nightmares of her slipping through the earth, deposited into the graves of her ancestors who died of hacking black cough refusing to leave the stone that became their tomb. 

She felt a jolt of fear, but it was too late. Maria sank into the shadows underneath her. 

She emerged, tumbling, from a brick wall. She could taste mold and dirt in her mouth and she fought the urge to hack up whatever she swallowed as she fell to her hands and knees. If her legs weren’t jello, she’d stand and sock Dorian  _ right _ in the fun bits. 

“You didn’t hold your breath.” Cassandra stood above her in the darkness, her eyes glimmering with something that may have been amusement. Maria pushed herself up off the ground just enough to peer up into Cass’s shadowed face before she turned to look at the wall from which she’d emerged. She expected to see Dorian, but he was nowhere to be seen. 

“Look.” The Seeker jerked her head to the side while she extended an arm. Although their alley was nearly as dark as pitch, the shadows against the wall they’d piled the cans against were not as deep. She could clearly see her sister fussing with knobs, Hawke shifting her weight anxiously from side to side, and Dorian emerging from the deepest shadows with a cheerful bow. 

Maria took Cassandra’s arm and hauled herself up, watching closely as the small group discussed something among themselves. She couldn’t hear the words, but it was clear that the decision was made among most of the group to send Varric next, regardless of his opinion on the matter. She watched Dorian take hold of Varric’s duster even as she watched  _ him _ open  _ his _ mouth to argue. 

In a matter of seconds, he too was unceremoniously shoved through the brick wall behind them. After his passage, the bricks shuddered and shivered, before settling back down. Varric sputtered and wiped his mouth on his dirty jacket. 

“Nug shit.” Varric swore. “Blighted stubborn  _ witches _ .” 

“The Champion…” Cassandra began. Varric looked up, disgruntled. 

“Said  _ she’s _ gonna come last. Something about destiny and what’s in her  _ fucking _ cards.” 

Maria peered out of the darkness, watched Dorian emerge yet again. He said something to Hawke, Hawke returned his answer, but Maria’s eyes fixed on Bea instead. Her hands had stopped across the square, too still in the air above the cannisters. Then she watched Bea thrust her palm out to Hawke, a clear signal to be still. Hawke stiffened, Dorian following her lead. 

Maria heard it before she saw it. The crash of something gigantic against concrete. She felt the vibrations under her feet and watched, breathless, as something massive came around the broad avenue’s corner, lurching into the square. The creature’s head, or at least she assumed it was a head, moved from side to side warily, scanning the square. 

It was a behemoth made of red lyrium, as tall as three human’s standing on each other’s shoulders, with a massive club of red lyrium on the end of it’s arm. The other, she noticed with a chill, ended in a wicked point. Somehow, by the grace of the Maker or fucking Andraste herself, it missed the three figures that flattened themselves against the old stone walls. Instead, dark eye sockets latched onto the shadows of the alley. It took one giant, slow step forward, eyes staring into the blackness.

Maria swore it was looking right at her. The grotesque sockets that held what, she assumed, passed for its eyes looked as if they’d been gauged in the crystal. Maria felt an arm snake around her waist from behind, Varric’s breath against her ear. “Don’t move.” He hissed.

She couldn’t, even if she wanted to. The only thing she could hear was her heart  _ pounding _ in between her ears. Varric’s chest was flush against her back, and a part of her noted in a hysterical, snarky way that she needed to quit getting pressed against him  _ only _ in these terrifying, near-death experiences. 

It knew she was there. It fucking knew, and she didn’t know how it knew, but it  _ knew _ . It knew and it was going to kill them. 

“You are  _ so  _ not what we ordered. Where did you come from? Can you go back  _ before _ we make a mess?” 

Varric’s grip around Maria’s waist tightened and he heard him growl both Hawke’s name and a rather creative combination of expletives. 

“We need to move, Varric.” Cassandra snapped quietly. 

“No.” Maria  _ couldn’t _ leave them. “What kills them? What…” 

“Not much.” Varric muttered. 

The behemoth swung around and took huge, lumbering steps toward the voice. Maria could see in between it’s misshapen legs the three figures against the wall. Hawke and Dorian to one side, Bea still beside the canisters where she could remain, hopefully, unnoticed. 

The creature reared back its head and roared. Cassandra swore an oath and brought her gun up, pointing not to the behemoth, but to the gates where figures were beginning to move, to look at the intruders by the wall. 

But not at the alley. Not at them. They, Maria thought coldly, were shadowed in darkness and safe. Half of their team…

Her baby sister…

As if Bea knew how Maria’s thoughts had swung, she looked past the behemoth to the dark alley. Maria knew Bea couldn’t see into the shadows, knew that she was as hidden from her sister as she was from the Venatori raising the alarm. 

But she could see Beatrix. She saw the flash of determination in the strong lift of her chin, the way she pulled the pistol from her pocket. Bea’s hands didn’t shake, the movement was as graceful as one of her dances. 

Maria opened her mouth to scream, but Varric’s hand was over her mouth before she could draw breath, muffling her attempt to say  _ something  _ or do  _ anything _ . She twisted against the solid prison of his arms, jerking even as he held her tighter. Panic fluttered to the forefront of her mind, made her remember the nightmare where Dwyka’s hand turned to demon’s claws and tore her mouth, made her think of all the times she’d been held down, pinned beneath his bulk, and she needed to be free, she needed…

She needed her sister. She needed to save her sister. 

Bea said something, but Maria didn’t hear it even though Bea’s eyes were locked in her direction. Maria’s baby sister had a gun in her hand, but all she could remember was holding that hand when they crossed Ostwick’s streets on the way home from school, in the hospital as Nanna lay dying. 

She remembered Bea’s hands shaking while she wiped blood from Maria’s face and  _ swore _ she’d kill him, she’d  _ kill  _ him if he touched her again while Maria reminded her they didn’t have a choice, they didn’t have a choice, they didn’t…

Bea looked past the behemoth into the shadows while she aimed her gun at the canisters. Her left hand reached to curl around the police badge hanging from her neck. Maria had just enough time to wonder if she held the gun the same way their father had when he put it to his head. 

Then Bea pulled the trigger. 

xx

Varric eulogized them all when they died. He had a journal full of names, dates, and a few sentences. Cole died trapped in a school bus full of children when they fled Haven. He heard from the kids they managed to pull out before the flames consumed it that he sang them lullabies while they burned. Rivaini, laid to rest in the sea she loved, free to travel its currents for all of time. Fenris, the man who learned to love what he’d been taught to hate and fear. Sunshine, their sweet Sunshine who never hurt anyone and was buried clutching at the last few daisies they could find. 

Bianca died rather than abandon her technical lab like a captain going down with the ship. The last message she sent into the ether telling him she was sorry about Rivain, but she wouldn’t make it. 

And in his head, he added one more. Beatrix Grace Cadash, who died brave. Beatrix Cadash, who let the red lyrium seep into her veins, but never turned on him like his brother had. Beatrix Cadash, who died to save her sister. 

Varric’s throat burned and he wanted to look away, but he didn’t. He  _ owed _ her this silent witnessing of her own destruction. If his fate was to bear testament to their end, then damnit, he’d do it. He’d fucking do it. It didn’t take much to ignite the tanks, but he knew it wouldn’t. They caught blaze immediately, the spark from the gun all it took. Or perhaps, if it wasn’t the spark, it was certainly when the bullet pierced the first tank. He was sure there was a reaction, one colliding with another, then another, all of them combining to send a fireball larger than anything Hawke ever summoned into the sky. But his eyes weren’t fast enough to catch it. To him, it all happened at once. The explosion that toppled the behemoth and cracked its crystalline form also blew a hole into the walls of Redcliffe, sent a cloud of smoke billowing above. Varric could feel the heat of it against his face. 

And in his arms, Maria’s struggles ceased. He honestly didn’t quite know how he’d managed to keep a hold of her beyond sheer determination, if he lived through this day he’d have bruises tomorrow for sure. He couldn’t see Maria’s eyes, but he knew they’d been open. He knew she hadn’t looked away. 

He knew it because he felt the wail behind the palm he’d clamped over her mouth. Felt the sobs begin to shake her form, felt the despair vibrate through her. 

“Varric...” 

And he closed his eyes, relieved in spite of the horror, that Hawke’s voice was behind him. He’d hoped. He’d fucking hoped that they’d seen what Bea was about to do, that they’d take the chance she afforded them with her sacrifice. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Varric.” Hawke whispered. 

“Fasta vass.” Sparkler’s voice shook. “Venhedis, I…” 

They needed to go. Now, before they lost what little head start and surprise they had. He knew it. He turned to look over his shoulder at Hawke as Maria Cadash fell apart in his arms. He needed to blink the tears out of his own eyes to focus on her properly. Hawke stared past him, Loki at her heels, jaw trembling with suppressed emotion.

“Was she herself?” Cassandra asked quietly. “At the end, was she…” 

“Yes.” Hawke answered, the fire reflecting madly in her eyes. “She said, she said… it’s better this way.” 

And in his heart, Varric knew Bea hadn’t been wrong. She had died  _ herself _ in spite of the red lyrium in her veins. Wholly aware of who she was, what she was doing, and  _ why _ . That’s why she didn’t look away from the shadows, as if she strained for one last glimpse of them before she died. 

“We need to move.” Varric whispered the words against Maria’s neck, loosening his palm over her lips. “We can save her, but we have to keep moving. You’ve got to stick with us.” 

He fought the urge to press his lips against her temple. She turned, shaking, to stare into his eyes. Her own were pools of raw, angry devastation, rimmed in tears that hadn’t fallen yet. They screamed, silently, in horror. Then she closed them, the silver tears that gathered on her lashes finally sliding past them. 

Varric had promised, a year before, one thing to Maria Cadash’s ghost. He swore he’d keep her sister safe and he’d failed, just like he failed to save her the first time. 

He couldn’t fail her again. If he loved her, he couldn’t. 

She ripped herself out of his arms, twisting to take one last look at the flames, the rubble that had become Bea’s cairn. He remembered, vividly, Maria looking up at those gates with a haunted, heavy expression before they left it the first time. Like some part of her knew, like some part of her saw it. 

“It should have been me.” She whispered to the flames. “It should have always been me.” 

Getting to the hotel through the alleys was made easier, undoubtedly, by the fact it seemed everyone rushed towards the gates of Redcliffe, the commotion drawing Venatori to the sight of the disaster just like they hoped. The beaten, scarred building loomed over an empty avenue. Two guards still stood by the front door, but Varric knew better than to go through the front. 

Thank the Maker he’d been so thorough about pulling data during their first cursed trips into Redcliffe. And thank Andraste’s sweet tits he’d been able to pull enough electricity to power everything up and look one last time before this last foray, their slapstick rescue mission turned redemption. 

The kitchen door was padlocked, but Hawke and her zippo made quick work of it. She melted it down and they stepped over the sizzling puddle of iron when Cassandra shoved the door open. Varric took one step into the room and, rather quickly, wished he fucking hadn’t. The kitchen was a modern, industrial nightmare. Sleek, stainless steel ran from one edge of the long space to the other. Nobody had been using it to cook food at any time recently, Varric hoped, judging by the stench. On one of the shiny prep areas, a torso missing all extremities sat like a ghoulish movie prop. A long, horrific slash through the skin exposed intestines, muscle, bone. Flies buzzed above it and Varric saw what he assumed was a human heart on a scale next to it. 

“Blood magic.” Hawke blanched in the fluorescent light, the flame on her zippo burning a bit hotter and larger. “What in Thedas were they trying to do here? It’s like a fucking murder pinata.” 

Dorian fluttered past, drawn to sigils in blood on the walls above them. He peered at it with disgust, shaking his head. “They’re trying to… go back in time themselves. Unsuccessfully, it looks like.” 

Dorian pointed to another section of the wall where the bloody sigils had been smeared out. “They can’t go far enough. It looks like… it looks like they want to go back to before the vortex occurred. But they can’t because…. Because…” 

Dorian’s eyes flashed with a burst of understanding and her whirled to Varric, but his eyes were on the silent, haunted figure behind him. “Because, my dear, the vortex is  _ powering _ the time magic. If we get you back, if we close it, they’ll be unable to attempt this inane scheme ever again.” 

“Why go back to before the vortex?” Cassandra snapped uneasily, her gun pointed at the torso despite the fact it was rather too late for it to put up much of a fight. 

“Because I wasn’t supposed to be there.” 

Maria hadn’t spoken since her last words at her sister’s sacrifice turned pyre. Her voice, cracked and weary, sounded lifeless. Maria held Dorian’s gaze, unblinking. “I got in their way and they didn’t get what they wanted. I wasn’t supposed to be there.” 

“The Maker put you there.” Cassandra declared with the utmost conviction. 

Maria’s red rimmed eyes swung to the Seeker and she gestured with her pistol, to the torso cut open before them, the blood splattered over every surface. “Did the Maker do this?”

A hollow, defeated question. And yet, Cassandra’s faith didn’t waver. Varric  _ never _ saw it waver. The Seeker stared down Maria with fiery determination. “And the Maker sent you to fix it.” 

The words were barely out of Cassandra’s mouth and Maria’s jaw was trembling, her hands shaking where they clenched around her pistol. “I barely remember my mother because  _ she _ died when a drunk driver didn’t fucking stop at a crosswalk.” 

“The Maker…” Cassandra broke in, but Maria didn’t stop. It was as if she couldn’t stop. 

“My father put a  _ bullet _ in his brain and my grandmother’s cancer came from the fucking mausoleums full of tainted ground and  _ useless _ ancestors she felt the need to honor. My husband bled to death in my  _ arms  _ and my sister…” Maria choked on that word, choked on all the grief and pain. Her eyes closed and she spat out the next words like they were poison. “Everyone who ever loved me is dead. What does the Maker have to say about that?” 

The words rolled to a stop in the bloodstained kitchen, rife with the stench of malevolent magic. Any answer Cassandra could give would be nothing more than empty platitude, a prayer on deaf ears. 

“Then make them pay.” Hawke whispered from where she stared at the bloody sigils, her hands curled into fist and her face set in a grimace. “Turn your grief into fury and burn them. Make them regret it. Make them sorry for every single drop of blood they spilled. And when you stand in front of the Maker, spit in his damn face.” 

When they emerged from the kitchen, they found the ground floor deserted. They couldn’t trust the elevators, anything that ran on electricity was probably fucked and in a place saturated with as much malevolent magic as this damn hotel…. Well, they’d be lucky if the elevators didn’t open up to the void itself. 

But the stairs were nearby and also, thankfully, abandoned. They made it up three floors before they ran into their first issue, and of course it was the fucking red lyrium. Shards of it turned the staircase into an unnavigable obstacle course of poison. “Blow it up?” Hawke suggested tersely. 

“Too much noise.” Varric muttered. “And we can’t risk infecting these two.” 

“Red hasn’t ever been my color.” Dorian peered through the dirty glass window on the door leading to the third floor. “This hallway is dark, but I am not sensing anything more dangerous than the lyrium.” 

“There’s another staircase on the other side of the building.” Varric felt a twinge of pain in his head as he struggled to remember his blueprints. “The hallways curves left and should get us there.” 

“I’m inspired by your confidence.” Hawke muttered. 

He opened his mouth to tell her to bite his dwarven ass, but before he could Maria shoved Dorian out of the way and opened the hallway door, gun drawn. She paused in the darkness, peering down the long corridor before she stepped forward. 

Varric fought the urge to reach out and haul her back into the stairwell. He’d forgotten this reckless side of her, and how it was certainly going to give him ulcers. He saw his thoughts mirrored immediately in Cassandra as she too shoved out the door to their Herald’s side. “What are you doing?” The Seeker hissed.

“Moving.” Maria replied numbly. Varric pinched the bridge of his nose while the rest of the group slid out after the other two women. 

“You missed your cue, y’know.” Hawke said softly. 

“Never missed a cue in my life.” He mumbled, stepping out into the eerie, quiet darkness. He tried not to shiver when he felt Hawke’s hot breath on his ear, her hand sliding something into his coat pocket. 

“There’s one person left in this world that loves her.” Hawke whispered. “And we both know it.” 

In a less life-or-death situation, he’d have elbowed her right in the stomach. As it was, he couldn’t help his sarcastic response. “Oh, right. Directly over the disemboweled torso in the b-grade horror film downstairs. Your idea of romance, as always, is interesting to say the least.” 

Hawke just sighed. The sound  _ almost _ covered the sound of something skittering in the darkness. Almost.

“That sounds charming.” Dorian stopped in front of them so suddenly Varric nearly ran into the man’s ass.

Hawke held her zippo up above his head and clicked it. The flame that sparked, far brighter than any flame had a right to be from a shitty lighter, threw the scene into sharp relief. Their small group huddled in the center of the hallway, Maria in the lead with Cassandra beside her. 

The skittering was coming from above them, and slowly they all raised their heads to the ceiling. What he saw made him want to vomit. There were pieces of meat, probably human, hanging above them. Clinging to them were monsters that looked nearly like spiders, except instead of eyes they had nothing but gaping maws full of hundreds of sharp, pointed teeth. 

The light seemed to have frozen them, but only for a second, the same way the horror had frozen their group. One demon let out a shriek, a high pitched wail that sent the others dropping onto the hallway floor, skittering across the ceiling, down the walls, each easily the size of the human torso downstairs.

Maria reacted first, her reflexes quickened by the fear plastered over her face. The one nearest to her received a bullet right in its maw and it dropped, splattering acidic blood that left the carpet at her feet smoking. 

“Move!” Cassandra ordered, taking aim at another of the creatures. More were pouring in from the doors lining the hallways. 

“Hawke…” Varric leveled his shotgun at one next to him. “Fire would be good right about now.” 

“Spiders.” Varric couldn’t spare the time to look into her face, but he knew she was shades too pale without even seeing her. “Why is it always…” 

And with that, he heard the crackling in her hand grow, the whoosh of fire spreading. “DUCK!” He yelled, hitting one of the creatures with the butt of his shotgun as it approached. 

The fireball that roared past sent the lucky creatures fleeing back into their rooms. The unlucky ones dropped, screaming in protest as they turned to cinders. Still, Varric could hear more skittering closer, drawn by the light, the noise, the smell of fresh meat. 

So he did the only rational thing his mind could think to do. He shoved forward until he was beside Maria, her wide gray eyes as panic stricken as he knew Hawke’s were. 

“Run!” He roared taking her arm and pulling. “Go!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY. IT'S GOING TO GET WORSE BEFORE IT GETS BETTER.


	27. The Death of an Author

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Champion of Kirkwall lights her own pyre.  
Varric Tethras asks for one thing from his Herald.  
Maria Cadash survives when nobody else does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: all of them.  
No seriously - gore, major character death, vague sexual assault (nothing explicit, but seriously inappropriate), trauma flashbacks, physical abuse, and just... just all the feels.  
You've been warned.

The carpet was littered with smoking limbs, still twitching, some still burning. They stumbled through the carnage, nearly ran into the wall at the end of the hallway before they all veered left. From behind them, they heard more of the monsters skittering out of their holes, hungry enough to risk the flames for a fresh meal. 

Loki tackled one that nearly launched itself at Varric’s head, the dog ripping one of it’s spindly legs from it’s form. Hawke’s flames soared over their heads, knocking more of them down around them. Electricity jumped from monster to monster while they ran, courtesy of Sparkler he assumed. Then they were at the door and Maria tried to wrench it open. It didn’t budge and she swore, tugging it as hard as she could.

“Please don’t tell me it’s locked.” He begged. 

“Fine. I won’t tell you.” Maria snapped back. One of the creatures leapt from the wall, it’s sharp, skinny legs slicing into Maria’s arm. She yelped, whipping back and cracking it with the butt of her pistol. She took aim at another preparing to launch itself at them, the sound of her pistol nearly deafening when she shot it down. 

Varric dropped to his knees, deft fingers reaching for lockpicks. There wasn’t enough light, even with Hawke’s fireballs. “Varric!” Hawke cried out, whirling in a circle, the flames surrounding her, the zippo burning…

“Bit of a problem here!” He yelled back. 

“Faster would be better!” Hawke advised, her flames spreading along the carpet, but the creatures grew braver. Circled her menacingly. Loki growled at her heels, leaping to snap whenever one grew too close. 

“Venhedis! Move!” Dorian shouted. Both he and Maria didn’t need to be told twice, both rolling away from the door just in time for a bolt of lightning to strike it. Varric watched the whole door bow inward, nearly off its hinges, but not quite. Something struck Varric’s head, but he didn’t know what it was. Part of a monster, or could have been the damn doorknob for all he knew. 

“Dorian, again!” Maria ordered from the other side of the door. 

The light of electricity threw the hallway into sharp relief. Varric could see everything in the brief, eerie light. It was just enough to watch another monster crawl through a crack in the wall, one of the ones Maria could seal if she wasn’t currently beating demon spiders off of them with nothing but fiery determination and barely concealed panic. The demon’s long claws scraped against the wallpapered walls and it shrieked, the sound echoing across the hallway. 

The second bolt of lightning struck the door, sent it flying into the stairwell. Varric very nearly shoved Maria into the opening, spinning back around to find the Seeker and Sparkler and…

_ Hawke _. 

She stood alone, a ring of flames surrounding her, zippo held aloft while she directed the flames with her other palm. Loki yelped from the darkness behind her, but Varric couldn’t see the familiar. Instead, he saw the Seeker and Dorian sprinting towards the door, past Varric, while Hawke continued to hold off the demons. But there were more creatures pouring from the crack, hundreds, hell, maybe thousands. 

They couldn’t hold them back. They couldn’t outrun them. Their second chance was dead in the water. 

“Hawke! Hawke, move your ass!” Varric must have said that a hundred times before, but never with this level of desperation. 

The flames around her looked like wings. Not angel wings, he’d never be that daft and the woman who advised the Herald of Andraste to spit in the Maker’s face could never be called an angel anyway. They did, however, look like wings that belonged to a predator, a terrifying, beautiful span of flames and smoke that looked like the bird her family took their name from. 

The demon sprang from behind her, the sharpened talons cutting through the air. The flames flickered off them, reflected and magnified. Varric raised his shotgun, his finger curling around the trigger, the creature’s mouth descending inch by inch towards Hawke’s unguarded neck. 

The talons pierced her back, emerged from her stomach bloody, dripping, the blood sizzling in the unbearable heat surrounding her, the smoke obscuring the bullet fired from his shotgun, even as he heard it hit the creature’s face, saw the black ichor paint the wall behind it.

Hawke staggered, her free palm to the claws that were sliding roughly back out from behind her. Varric could see the blood pouring, too fast, too much, staining her coat dark. He could see it shining, oil slick black, on her hand when she pulled it away from her wound, dismayed. “Hawke!” He yelled, stepping back into the hallway, intent on pulling her from the flames that spread around her, the demons that paced around hungrily, waiting for her to falter, to fail, to…

_ To break, the way all heroes did in the end. _

Hawke’s bright blue eyes met his, stunning in their intensity. Then her ragged, chapped lips cracked a bitter smile. She thrust her hand out, shaking, the zippo burning brilliantly. Her voice broke above the scrambling demons and their shrill, horrific cries. 

“Craft my blood into the fire. Weave it well, weave it higher.” She began. The hair on Varric’s neck stood up as the blood pouring out of her began to hiss, bubble in the heat. 

“Hawke, stop!” Varric needed her to _ fucking _ stop because if Broody found out about this he’d…

Broody would never find out, though. And maybe that was what gave Hawke the strength to make this wild, desperate choice. Her hair was turning to cinder, he could see it catching fire in the air around her. 

“Weave it now of blood and pain.” Hawke’s voice was still strong even as she fell to her knees into the pyre of her own making. “Nobody will pass this fiery wall, nobody will pass…” 

Hawke’s lyrium blue eyes bore into him and her smile faltered, the hand no longer holding the lighter reaching out, palm to him. “Nobody at all, Varric.” 

Her skin was cracking, curling, turning to ash even as he watched her weave this last curse. He swore, diving into the heat, feeling his own hair begin to singe. But Hawke’s eyes never left him, and the pulse of energy that burst from her palm sent him reeling back into _ someone, _although he couldn’t see who it was. Hawke’s eyes slipped past him and settled on the person grabbing him, pulling him back, her lips curling up into one, last satisfied smile. 

Then she was nothing but a pillar of flames, bright, burning, brilliant.

_ Gone. _

Varric tumbled back into the stairwell just as a solid wall of flames slammed against the open door. Impenetrable, towering, an inferno unlike anything Hawke had ever summoned. A pyre, he thought mutely while he struggled to sit up, fit to cremate a champion. 

It took him a moment to realize the broken, ragged sobs were coming from deep in his chest. Half of a person was behind him, caught between his bulk and the cinderblock wall, but he didn’t consider _ who _ it was until _ her _ fingers curled into his shoulder, both gentle and insistent.

Maria Cadash raced _ back _ into Hawke’s inferno to pull him out. He could see both Dorian and Cassandra vibrating with indignant rage, imagined they had tried to stop her and failed miserably. 

Maria risked her life to pull him out, even though he should have gone out in a blaze with Hawke, forever her trusty sidekick. Instead, she pushed him into Maria’s arms. Her last, resounding, declaration that he needed to get his shit together.

“You’re bleeding.” Maria frowned, her hand reaching to gently cup his jaw, eyes laser focused on whatever injury he’d picked up, not that it mattered. Not that he even noticed. All he noticed, beyond the crackle of flames, the stench of burning flesh, was Maria’s soft, warm skin. Her face, streaked with soot, her bleeding arm, and her eyes…

Her fucking eyes. Gentle, soft, filled with tears for him. For Hawke. For Beatrix and everyone else they lost. He turned into her palm, muffling his sobs in her touch like a wounded beast seeking comfort. Through the tears blurring his vision he could make out the line of the tattoo of her wrist, the graceful curve of her initials under the steady throb of her pulse. 

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m certain any witch worth a gram of lyrium is going to have felt that magic.” Dorian’s handsome face twisted into a scowl. 

“Give him a minute.” Maria’s voice brooked no argument.

“We do not have a minute.” Cassandra crouched into view, her own eyes steely, jaw set in determination. “Varric, we must go. It is what they would have wanted.”

An undo button. A reset. Sunshine’s smile under a broad brimmed hat on the beach while Hawke sunbathed, Fenris smirking into his wine while Hawke hustled pool. 

Maria on the back of a motorcycle, her red hair in the wind, the sun illuminating her smile. 

His tears were spilling down Maria’s fingers and she brushed them away, her voice harsh and insistent. “Give him a _ damn _ minute.” 

Dorian and Cassandra were right, even if he couldn’t make his own mouth form the words. Even if everything inside him had fallen quiet in silent shock that Hawke, irrepressible, impossible, irreverent Hawke had _ also _ been silenced forever. They were wasting time, sitting here, valuable time Hawke bought them. 

Missing their cue, as Hawke would say. 

That thought jolted him into action. His hand dove into his jacket pocket, frantically searching for whatever Hawke had slipped there, although he knew. He fucking knew even as he pulled it out with shaking fingers. A well worn, well loved card. He saw Maria’s gray eyes slip to it, the Lovers in between them just as it had always been, from the very second the sky exploded in Haven, he’d been blind not to see it. 

Blind or willfully stupid. He didn’t know what was worse. 

“I’m beginning to feel like that’s cursed to follow me around.” Maria dropped her hand and glared at the card in his hand. Varric swallowed, hard, and watched as her fingers lightly brushed the tattoo on her wrist. 

“It’s not cursed.” Cole’s words in Varric’s mouth as he slipped the card, not in his pocket, but back in Maria’s. It had brought her to them, brought her back to _ him _ . Now _ she _ had to take it back to where it belonged, to a world where Bea Cadash still danced, where Hawke didn’t burn in front of his eyes. 

A world for lovers. A world for _ them _. “It’s just a promise, Princess.” 

One he hadn’t made, and desperately, _ desperately _ wished he had. 

They trudged up the stairs until they could go no further, the number twelve in peeling, black letters above the last door. Through it, they could see figures standing in a small knot near one of the doors. They had hoods pulled over their heads. 

A scream pierced the air, tapering off into a breathless, mocking laugh. It made Varric’s stomach drop and he looked up at the Seeker. “I think we found Nightingale.” 

“I cannot believe she is still alive in this cursed place.” Cassandra readied her gun, frowning in concentration. “They are witches, we must…” 

“Witches bleed like everyone else.” Maria was loading bullets in her gun, fingers sure and deft. “That’s what Bull always said, anyway.” 

Another scream pierced the air and Maria’s shoulders hitched up in preparation, eyes flashing. “Let’s go.” 

Cassandra was the first through the door, slamming it open loudly and stunning the assembled group. It was enough for her to put a bullet through two heads. The third witch summoned a shield and a ball of fire, but Cassandra’s smite sent the fire sputtering and the shield collapsing. Maria’s bullet finished that job. A bolt of lighting sent the last one flying. Their group paused in the carnage before Maria slipped cautiously forward, examining the door the group stood in front of critically. 

“Hell of a door.” She muttered. Varric conceded she had a point. It was black as obsidian, bits of it studded with what he suspected, but sincerely hoped wasn’t, red lyrium. 

“Doesn’t match the rest of the decor.” The humor came out weak, dry. He half expected to hear Hawke chime in with a critique of the wallpaper, but of course she didn’t. 

“Ah, good.” Dorian peered at it and wrinkled his nose. “Perhaps this leads to our mysterious thirteenth floor?” 

Another short, pained scream floated from behind the door. Maria reached for the handle automatically, her reflex to come to the aid of another overriding common sense and caution. The door didn’t budge. 

“It’s magic.” Dorian reached into his coat pocket and pulled out, a rather frightened and rumpled looking ball of feathers. “Nyx, have a look at…” 

“I am not asking your _ bird _ for advice!” Maria seethed as another scream sliced through the air. “Damnit, I want this door open!” 

She slammed her palm down on the black obsidian and Varric felt the ensuing vibration in his own teeth, a gust of power whipping through Cassandra’s hair, Varric’s jacket. The bird in Dorian’s fist chirped irritably, but the door swung open as Maria commanded. Her hand was still, almost comically, hanging in the air where the door had been. 

“Well.” Dorian struggled to regain his composure, shoving the squawking familiar back in his pocket. “If you wish to show off, have it your way.” 

A trickle of blood ran from Maria’s nose to her lip, her fingers reaching to catch it immediately. She blinked, stunned, staring at the jet black steps leading up into darkness above them. Varric reached out to catch her elbow, afraid he’d watch her collapse as she sometimes did when she sealed the cracks. 

Instead, another scream pierced the air, and Maria dove into the darkness, slipping out of his fingers. 

xx

The screams were almost animalistic, inhuman. She’d never heard anyone scream like that, couldn’t imagine the pain, the suffering, inflicted to cause it. So when the door was open, when nothing stood between her and it except the stairs leading into the red studded darkness above and the beginning of a horrible headache… Maria didn’t think. She moved. 

It was all she could keep doing. _ Moving. _ If she stopped for a moment, if she paused to think… all she would see was Bea’s fingers curling around the trigger of a gun, Hawke’s skin flaking off in pieces of ash, demons with thousands of teeth and dismembered body parts. All she would smell was smoke, blood, _ death. _

This couldn’t be real. This had to be a nightmare, because if it were real, if any of this was real… 

The steps opened onto a cavernous room that would have been lovely, if not for the haunting spikes of red lyrium or suspicious stains on the white tile. The ceiling above them almost looked like the night sky, complete with tiny pinpricks to mimic stars. 

But her eyes were drawn to the man standing over the convulsing woman on the floor. Her red hair was the only thing Maria recognized, the rest of her was a mass of wounds, of scars. 

“You will break.” The Magister, the same _ fucking _ Magister who sent her here, had electricity sparking among his fingers. “Tell me, how did Cadash know to be at the Conclave? Who sent her?” 

“Never.” Leliana laughed at his feet, breathless and mocking. “I would never tell you anything.”

“Shall I cut it out of your face then and remind you who you belong to now?” The Magister asked, icy and cold, a knife flashing in his other hand. Maria’s zeroed in on the watch on his wrist, even as her mind conjured up that last night in Dwyka’s apartment, his hand in her hair, his growl in her ear. 

_ I own you, Cadash. _

That was why she was at the Conclave. That’s why she fell into this hellscape. There was no Maker, no divine plan. Only Dwkya’s greed, only his grubby fingers that clutched onto her until she couldn’t breathe, until she couldn’t speak. 

If she made it out, she swore she’d kill him herself for this. Even if Leliana had him murdered, she’d dig him out of the ground to do it again. 

The knife began to move and Leliana lay, motionless, on the tiles. Leliana, the only person who offered aid without strings, without judgement. That thought made her hand steady when she aimed at the back of the Magister’s head. The trigger clicked, the gun cracked. 

But the witch was fast, for an old man. He whirled, a gesture sending her bullet sharply to the left. Still, when he locked eyes with her, all she saw was hollow, empty defeat. His hand dropped, weary, to his side. “It’s you. I… I always knew you would return.”  
“You’re… you’re alive.” Leliana’s harsh, cracked whisper drifted from the floor. Her eyes, disbelief at war with hope, traced Maria’s face. 

Maria couldn’t take her eyes off the witch in front of her to check on Leliana, she could only mutter her response. “So I am.”

“Alexius!” Dorian’s voice came from above her shoulder, outraged and shaking with suppressed fury. “Alexius, look at this. This is _ madness _, what have you done? Why?” 

“Dorian.” Alexius’s shoulders dropped. “You would not… you could not understand. It’s too late, regardless. The end is nigh. Everything I have done has been for naught.” 

Alexius looked down at her with a cold sneer. “Kill me, then.” 

He didn’t have to ask Maria twice. She never lowered her weapon anyway and, really, her only regret was that this was too easy, too clean. He deserved to burn like Bea, like Hawke, like the world. 

“No, wait.” Dorian pushed past her, arms outstretched, and Maria stilled her fingers. While she glared at Dorian, while Alexius stared at him, Leliana took the opportunity. Behind Alexius’s back, she pulled herself up, stumbling back to a huddled shape near an ornate altar at the end of the room. Maria watched her warily, gun poised to shoot at the slightest movement, while Dorian reached out to Alexius.

“We can fix it.” Dorian pleaded, offering his palm like an olive branch. “Give me the watch, let us go back. It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“You ruined it.” Alexius hissed, eyes swinging from Dorian to Maria below him. “You, a common thug, worthy of _ nothing _. If you had not...” 

“Where is Felix?” Dorian interrupted the beginning of what Maria felt sure would be a crazy rant, one she didn’t really want to listen to. “Maybe he can talk some sense into your demented head.” 

“Felix…” Alexius swung his head back behind him, catching sight of Leliana just as she dragged the shape off the floor. Maria hadn’t realized it belonged to a person, or what was left of one. The thing Leliana grabbed looked more skeleton than human, a creature of withered flesh and bone. 

“Andraste have mercy…” Dorian croaked, stepping forward. “Felix… Alexius what have you done…?” 

“Don’t!” Alexius cried, hands reaching out desperately. “He is all I have left…” 

“This is no way to live.” Leliana snarled, wrapping her own withered arms around the neck of the creature that used to be Felix. He didn’t even try to fight or struggle, his eyes staring uselessly off into the distance. 

The snap of bone breaking sounded louder in the empty room than it should, followed by the sound of Felix’s body hitting the tile with a hollow thump. Alexius froze in horror, then let out a primal scream, a scream Maria recognized in spite of herself. She screamed the same way when Fynn hit the ground in their tidy kitchen in Hercinia. She screamed like that when Bea shot the cans, although she hadn’t been able to hear it muffled by Varric’s hand and the explosion. It was an agonized, horrible wail. 

Alexius raised his hand, magic sparking at his fingertips. He’d forgotten, in his rage and grief, who stood at his back. 

It was the last mistake he’d make. 

When Alexius moved to strike Leliana down, Maria pulled the trigger. She watched with cold detachment as her bullet opened a hole in his skull, saw the blood spatter over Dorian, felt it hit her own face. Alexius stopped, frozen, for one last moment before he too pitched forward, joining his son. 

Too clean. Too efficient. It left her feeling hollow, empty. He didn’t feel fire on his skin, didn’t burn alive. 

“Oh Alexius…” Dorian sighed, crouching above his body. “He lost Felix long ago and he never even realized.” 

Maria didn’t care to listen. She stepped past the body towards Leliana’s figure, lowering her weapon. “Are you alright?” 

“Nevermind that.” Leliana stepped forward briskly, holding her hand over ribs that were surely broken, but narrowing her eyes. “I hope, if you have returned from the dead, you have a plan to fix this.” 

“Yes. Standard time travel from here on, really.” Maria looked over her shoulder just in time to watch Dorian pull the watch from Alexius’s wrist. “I need a few hours, but…” 

“Hours?” Leliana’s voice went shrill. “We cannot give you hours. You have to go now.” 

“Nightingale…” Varric stepped forward, tense and wary. “We’ve got one shot at this, we can’t rush it.” 

“The Elder One is coming. This monster is on the way _ now, _ Varric.” Leliana snapped, throwing her fiery gaze to Cassandra. “Do you have weapons?” 

“Yes.” The Seeker’s face settled into a grim line of determination as she pulled a spare piece from her waistband. “We will need to…” 

Outside, Maria heard a sound that chilled her to her very bones. A sound like the screech of nails on chalkboard crossed with the roar of a caged, pained animal. It silenced all of them for a second. 

“What was that?” Maria whispered through her teeth, trying to ignore the way the hair stood up on the back of her neck. Nobody answered, they all shared a silent, knowing look instead. 

“Trouble.” Varric broke the silence, swinging his shotgun into his hands. “Ladies, if you don’t mind, I’d like to hold point here.” 

Hold point, because they were under attack. Again. And whatever it was sounded worse than spiders, than demons, than witches and fire and...

“Yes.” Cassandra laid a hand on Varric’s shoulder. It was a sympathetic gesture that didn’t quite jive with what Maria knew of the two of them. Maria also caught the significant, poignant look the Seeker threw her way before she continued. “They are in no better hands.” 

“Careful, Seeker.” Varric joked weakly. “People may think I grew on you.” 

“You have as much time as we have bullets, witch.” Leliana declared, taking the gun from Cassandra. “Make it count.” 

“Wait…” Maria wanted to protest, but Cassandra interrupted first. 

“Herald. In case… in case I never get a chance to say it again...” Cassandra swallowed, hard, and shook her head in irritation before huffing out the rest of her sentence. “You were… you are…”

Cassandra struggled while Maria stared at her blankly, waiting for whatever came next. A failure, her mind supplied helpfully for the Seeker. A mistake, a thug, a…

“I did not know what we had lost in you, until you were gone.” Cassandra finally stated, inclining her head, briefly, before rotating robotically on her heel. Leliana fell into step beside her. 

“Wait!” Maria stepped after them, but neither woman listened. They stiffened, marching off together, their weapons drawn. Dorian knelt down, chalk in hand, drawing sigils on the tiles as he looked frantically back and forth between it and the watch. 

“Princess, listen…” Varric had his voice pitched low again, whiskey smooth and warm. It was the same voice, even if the man himself looked like he’d been through hell, the same voice that teased and soothed her in the back of the SUV for weeks. “The most important thing we can do right now is get you home.” 

She couldn’t go home. She could _ never _ go home again because her father was dead, her grandmother was dead, Fynn was dead, and how many times had she nearly gotten Bea killed? Sooner or later, there’d be _ nobody _ to go home too. As if reading her thoughts, Varric smiled sadly. He raised his hand like he’d touch her, but stop just short of running his fingers down her cheek like she thought he would. He looked torn, hand hanging in the air, before he dropped it with an air of resignation and sighed wearily. “It’s just a bad dream, Maria. This is all just a nightmare.” 

Maria heard the sound of an explosion. She looked frantically down the steps. She hadn’t even realized she’d made a noise, some primal sound of dismay, until Varric shushed her. “It’s alright. I wouldn’t go against those two for a million sovereigns.” 

They lapsed into silence, Maria straining to hear from beyond the heavy doors. She thought she heard gunshots, but she couldn’t be sure. The only thing she knew she could hear was her own rapid heart beat, Dorian’s frantic muttering behind them. 

She didn’t realize Varric was staring at her until she heard another explosion and looked to him, for either an explanation or to share her rising panic, but there wasn’t any fear written on his face. Instead, just something too tender to name, something soft and sweet in that sad smile. “It was worth it, you know.” 

“What?” She asked, torn between confusion and general, overwhelming numbness. Those were definitely gunshots, she could clearly hear them and they were close, just outside the door. 

“Everything.” Varric admitted, carefully taking the hand that wasn’t wrapped around her own gun. She watched, carefully detached, as he twisted his rough fingers with hers. Then he stepped into her space, an overwhelming presence that smelled of smoke and blood, but underneath it something unique, something identifiably Varric, something she’d know anywhere. His head tipped to the side, his lips close enough to her skin to touch as he whispered into her ear, causing her to shiver in spite of herself.

“Do you think you can do me a favor, beautiful?” 

Her heart skipped a beat and she couldn’t tell if it was caused by Varric’s honey voice so close to her skin, the magic crackling behind her as Dorian worked furiously, or the sudden silence outside the doors. A silence that echoed louder than the gunfire. Still, she nodded. 

“Forget all of this. Forget all of it except...” Varric’s voice grew hoarse with emotion and he squeezed her fingers tight. “I want you to remember that it was enough for me to know you. It was enough to live in a world where you existed. It was enough, _ you _ were enough.” 

And just like that, every fear, every thought, her very heartbeat stopped. For a fleeting second, it was just her, her and Varric, and she _ shouldn’t _ have let him walk out of her bedroom that night in Haven, she should have _ asked _ him to stay, poured her broken heart out to him.

She should have kissed him, but he was too good, he was handsome and loyal, famous and rich, and there was the shadow of a girlfriend he maybe had and Dwyka’s stench lingering on her, and she was too _ fucking _ scared to risk it, to let him in and see one more person hurt because of her. 

No matter what he said, he was too much. Too much for her to ask for. Too much for her to hold. 

She meant to say all of that and more, but the only thing that came out was his name, strangled and choked with all the things she couldn’t make her mouth say, all the words that stuck in her throat. Varric’s lips pressed gently against her cheek and he pulled away, still wearing that tragic smile, his fingers untangling from hers. 

“In another world, Princess.” He said quietly, turning from her. She could do nothing but stare after him, sick and breathless all at once. She stepped forward, to chase him, to thank him, kiss him, she didn’t even know…

“Fasta vass, you stay put, Cadash.” Dorian snapped, dark eyes pinning her in place. “There is a time and a place to chase that man down, and now is not it.” 

If not now, when? Still, fear and uncertainty froze her in place. She heard another crash against the door, then the sound of it blowing open. She saw the gust of energy tug Varric’s hair partially free of the tie, obscuring part of his face from her gaze. Maria lifted her gun, poised between Varric and Dorian, waiting. 

She didn’t have to wait long. Varric saw whatever came up first, she heard his shotgun fire, saw the flash from the muzzle. She heard something drop, but even as he took aim at another, a third demon emerged from the staircase, dripping red fangs with Cassandra’s body clasped in bloody talons. Maria aimed her pistol, but her fingers shook and the shot went wide, too wide. 

“Cadash!” Dorian yelled. Maria barely registered. She watched Varric drop another demon with a close range shot, but he couldn’t avoid the one that dropped the Seeker’s lifeless body, the one Maria missed. It screeched as it slashed forward, quicker than Maria’s eyes could register. 

It’s claws sank into Varric’s side, Maria watched the blood bloom bright and crimson, the slashes gauging Varric’s skin open. He grunted, but he didn’t scream.

Her next shot didn’t go wide, it dropped the demon effortlessly, but it was too late. The wound caused Varric to slow and the last demon grabbed him, his legs dangling in the air, kicking helplessly as it threw him back to the ground. He looked small, suddenly, as small as she felt. 

She’d never _ thought _ of him as small. Always thought of him as solid, like the muscles of his arm wrapping neatly around her waist, her form melting into his that night in the snow. Her caged against the piano in Val Royeaux by his bulk before he took a step back, clearing enough of a path for her to flee. 

He _ always _ gave her enough room to run from him. 

His shotgun went flying, skittering across the tile, Varric’s blood painting it crimson. Maria nearly dropped her own gun in her haste to move, to rush to him, to pull him back and…

“No!” Dorian screamed, and his long, lanky human arm caught the back of her ruined jacket, hauled her towards him. She felt the magic crackling around them, the lights swirling, but it didn’t obscure Varric from her. 

He looked up from the ground, blood covered face, arm reaching as if to grab her one last time. His eyes locked on her, his mouth forming one last desperate plea for her to go. 

Always. He _ always _ let her go. His last, desperate act, was to let her flee. 

The demon reared up behind him, claws glistening with dark blood as it screeched again. She watched its talons descend, a blur of crimson and dark bone. It’s screech still rang in her ears and she tried to pull free of Dorian, her coat holding her back even as she surged desperately forward. 

“VARRIC!” Maria screamed. “VARRIC!” 

He never looked away. His eyes locked on hers even when the claws pierced the skin of his neck, even when she heard the bone crack, even when the blood spurted all over the horrifying creature. Even when his eyes went dark, his hand still stretched for her, his eyes never looked away. 

The magic around them boiled, heat against her skin, the smell of smoke. Of blood and death. 

Varric vanished. The demons vanished. She could see nothing but darkness, not even her own hands. Nothing existed except Maria, nothing tethered her to reality except Dorian’s hand fisted in the back of her coat. She coughed on the smoke, felt like she was breathing in the inferno that burned Hawke alive, that tore her sister from her. She too was ignited, and she too would die. 

_ Good _. She thought wildly. If any of them deserved it...

Except she didn’t. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, the smoke began to clear. She pitched forward, Dorian’s grip faltering, her pistol thudding to the floor, the magic dissipating even as Maria hit her hip hard enough to bruise on the table beside her. A normal, everyday table. Gleaming wooden mahogany, too big, too pretentious. The walls were white, the sun through the windows illuminated the room, and Maria was staring into the face of the man she’d just shot in the back of the head. 

If she’d had her gun, if she wouldn’t have lost it under the table, if she didn’t feel like jello in a blender, she’d have fucking shot him again, this time in the face. Instead, she lashed out the way she knew best, lashed out like a cornered, wounded animal. Her fist connected with his face, his jaw, sent him careening back into the chair he’d stood from. 

He raised his arm to his face and she saw the gold watch, that _ fucking _ watch, the only thing that made sense, the only thing she could focus on. They were dead, they were all dead and it was her fault and this _ fucking _watch… 

She grabbed for the old man’s arm, her nails leaving bloody gauges on his skin.

_ Like the demon she missed flaying Varric’s skin open. _

She ripped it off with all her strength. He barely resisted, cradling his jaw with his other hand. 

There was just enough of her mind left to notice it was a Rolex. A big, fancy, expensive watch _ exactly _ like Fynn’s father wore. 

_ His cologne in her nose, cloying, pushing her into the bookshelf, whiskey soaked breath telling her he could give her what Fynn couldn’t, her fingers clawing at the watch on his wrist to try and get his hands off of her. _

And then Maria turned to the edge of the table, slammed the face of the watch as hard as she could into the polished, gleaming surface. She heard a sharp snap, felt a clean, sobering pain. A surge of energy made the lights flicker. 

_ Dwyka still didn’t let go, even as it throbbed, his grip tightening and forcing a whimper from her throat while he asked why she couldn’t just do what he asked for once. _

Her wrist. Her _ fucking _ wrist _ again _, but it dashed the fog surrounding her, brought everything into focus. The watch was in pieces, her hands covered in blood and gore over top of it, and everything was silent, the only sound Maria’s ragged breathing, her hammering heart. 

“Shit.” 

She closed her eyes, the voice piercing her eardrums, honey and velvet and whiskey and he was whispering in her ear and he was _ dying, _ she watched him die, she watched _ them _ die, she watched...

“That’s one word for it.” Dorian replied without any venom at all, sounding ancient beyond his years. 

She opened her eyes, looked up across the table, and met the shocked, dismayed gazes of Bull, of Cassandra (alive, alive and not dead for _ her _) and… 

Varric. _ Varric _. His warm eyes, his face, his broad shoulders and half-unbuttoned shirt and his lips curling into a relieved smile even as his eyes lingered in shadowed concern. 

His name was still stuck in her throat, a scream she hadn’t finished, and she could still taste his blood lingering in the air. She couldn’t look at him without seeing him dangling from a demon’s claws, without seeing them plunge into his neck, the one she’d playfully imagined kissing the _ last _ time they’d been in this _ fucking _ room.

Varric Tethras died to save her. Varric Tethras died _ just _ like Fynn Dunhark died. For a woman who wasn’t worth their sacrifice. Bea died, Hawke died, Casandra died, Leliana died, Varric died and it would have been better, it would have been cleaner, if it had been Maria. 

If it had just been Maria dead in Hercinia a decade prior instead of Fynn. 

She couldn’t look at them any more. She couldn’t look at _ him _ anymore.

So she did the only thing that made sense. She turned, and she _ fled _.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still reading - I'm so so so so sorry.
> 
> If it makes you feel better - I've written some tooth rottingly sweet fluff to get myself through this chapter and I will definitely share it all with you. 
> 
> ...eventually.
> 
> Also - I had some technical issues posting this chapter. Sorry if you've subscribed and got two notifications :-(


	28. The New Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric finds Maria and the Lovers.   
Maria tries to find her own strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WAIT TWO CHAPTERS IN A ROW. 
> 
> You guys earned this. I hope a little fluff goes a long way. <3 Thanks for being awesome.

Varric never wanted to call bullshit more in his life. Sparkler's story was the kind of shit his editor would skin him alive for even trying to pass off as decent plot. The one thing stopping him from dismissing the whole thing as a weird, magic induced psychedelic trip was the fact that the two of them  _ looked _ like they'd been through hell. Dorian's burns and bruises were bad enough to make the witch healer they pressed into service turn white, but Maria had looked even worse before she ran off into void knew where. 

Dorian was also skipping a hell of a lot of details and Varric knew it, but he wasn’t going to be the one to prod. They got sent to a nightmarish future full of demons and blood magic, fought their way up to the thirteenth floor, then came careening back into the present. All nicely tied up with a bow, if that’s the way Dorian and Maria wanted it. 

But Varric was definitely not going to be the one to tell Curly they lost the Herald of Andraste, let alone break the news to Bea Cadash. Even Tiny looked distressed about the possibility of making that phone call. For the sake of their physical safety, they simply had to find her. 

And if Varric's stomach wouldn't stop forming new ulcers until he had her back in his sight, safe and sound… Well, that was a whole other problem he needed to deal with. After they saw to Maria. 

"Check the security footage from the gates again." He ordered the AI in his ear tersely. Bianca swore that nobody had left the city of Redcliffe, but that didn't make any sense because they'd all combed the city twice. She’d been missing for damn near an hour while they chased their tails. The rest of the team continued to search but Varric returned to the hotel, intent on digging through security footage until he...

The sharp, unexpected tug on his ear sent him cursing, swatting at the ball of feathers trying to steal his earring, again. Nyx cawed angrily and pecked the tender skin behind his ear sharply. "Sparkler, I swear on my ancestors if you don't…"

The only response from Dorian was a snore. The man, drained of mana, had been left to sleep in one of the lobby chairs in the hotel. He'd been dead to the world since. Varric glared at his form, considered tossing a copper into his open mouth, then turned his impatient ire onto the bird. "I don't have any damn crackers for you and I'm not giving you my earring."

The bird perched on the hotel check-in desk, puffed itself up indignantly, and then tossed something from it's clawed feet onto the counter. Varric shuffled closer, identifying the shiny thing as a button. It took him another second to recognize the shiny brass circle. 

It was a button from Maria's coat. 

The bird chirped what sounded almost like an irritated "finally", launching itself into the air and circling Varric's head once, twice before shooting off down one of the hallways. Varric looked after it for only a moment before he snatched the button off the counter and abandoned the lobby and Sparkler. He followed the bird to a door marked fire escape, one with a rather pronounced bloody handprint on the doorknob, fingers just the right size to be Maria's. 

He could smack himself. No wonder they couldn't find her in town, there was a rather large chance she'd never left the hotel at all. 

He shoved the door open and the bird swooped into the stairwell, circling high up above his head. Varric stared at the steps rising in endless flights above him and tried not to sound dismayed. "The elevator wasn't an option?" 

The bird's answering cry sounded a bit like bright peals of laughter. Varric sighed and reminded himself he needed the cardio, tackling the steps as quickly as he could.

By the time he made it to the twelfth floor, he was about ready to say Maria could just stay wherever she'd found herself. But he followed the bloody handprints and the bird out of the stairwell and into the hallway. About halfway down there was another door, this one smeared with blood. It stood, normal enough, but someone had picked the lock. It was such a hack job, done clearly in haste, Varric was nearly certain the door would never open properly again. The good news, he thought grimly as he pulled the handle, was they could definitely blame all the property damage on Magisters. He hoped the hotel had good damn insurance. 

The steps above him led up to slate gray sky, the sun high above them but doing very little to spread any warmth. Nyx shot past him, launched herself into the sky above. Varric followed her flight, the steps ending abruptly and opening up into the concrete roof. He swept his eyes quickly across his surroundings, taking in the water tanks, the backup generator, a satellite perched precariously and…

_ Maria. _

He would have missed her, but her hair stood out like a flag. She had collapsed against the low wall surrounding the roof, but dwarven stature meant she was hidden underneath it. She had her knees pulled up to her chest, both arms curled around them and her face buried against her thighs. She shook, either from the cold or dry sobs Varric didn’t know, but she was  _ here _ and  _ alive _ . 

For a second, she’d been gone. The smoke cleared, and she’d been gone.

His first thought, crystal clear even among the panic and dread, had been that he’d never get the chance to pull her flush against him, never feel her lips under his, never hear his name in her mouth or tell her… 

Then she was  _ back. _ She came back, covered in gore, looking more feral than he’d ever seen her, but she came back to them, to  _ him, _ like a fucking miracle. 

He could see her right wrist was swollen twice the size it should have been and there was a whiff of smoke in the air around her. The right shoulder of her jacket hung in tatters, but it looked like the deep, brutal cuts underneath it stopped bleeding. She needed looked at by a professional, probably more urgently than Dorian had, but he didn’t think there was any immediate danger. 

Something inside him warned him not to run to her, not to drop down to his knees beside her no matter how much his gut screamed at him to. Instead, he held his ground by the stairs and pitched his voice low. “Hey, Princess. We thought you slipped out the back.” 

Varric watched her arms tighten around her knees. She rocked slightly and Varric swallowed the urge to lunge again. Cautiously, he moved forward, making sure his footfalls echoed on the concrete so she could track his location. He stopped, closer, but still more than a human’s arm length from her. The smell of smoke was stronger here, but beyond the wrist and the slashes, she seemed sturdy as ever. “Dorian told us what happened.” 

He sunk to his knees, watching her carefully. She didn’t flinch away from him, at least. Small steps. He continued, voice gentle and steady. “It’s over. You’re not there, Maria. You’re back with us, in Redcliffe. If you looked up over this wall, you’d probably see the Seeker stalking around looking for you. Go ahead and breathe, beautiful. It’s over now, I promise.” 

He settled back, content to wait. This, this he could handle. It was nothing but panic, nothing but fear and trauma. This wasn’t magic, this wasn’t crazy, this was just a brain firing off synapses trying to make sense of all this bullshit. “We can stay up here as long as you want. Look up, tell me where we are.” 

Maria hesitated, but he watched as she unfurled just enough to bring her eyes to his. They were rimmed in red, mascara and eyeliner black around them, a suspicious bruise beginning to show on her temple. Varric held her eyes and waited, patiently. 

“Redcliffe.” She echoed, finally. “The thirteenth floor.” 

Her voice sounded harsh, the voice of a woman who’d been on a cold roof crying for a solid hour. Even as she looked at him, he saw her try and blink the tears out of her slate eyes. The same color as the sky above them. Varric looked around, raised an eyebrow pointedly. “Well, I don’t think we can say this is the thirteenth floor any longer. I think when you broke the watch, this just became the roof again.” 

“Good.” Maria spat the word, the satisfaction venomous as it dripped from her lips. “Then it can’t ever happen.”

There she was, his fighter still. And she was right, wasn’t she? Whatever they’d seen, whatever they’d gone through, she’d stopped it. Just like she stopped the vortex from spilling demons on their head, just like she’d turned the crowd against the Lord Seeker in Val Royeaux. 

Varric thought if she could survive this, she may just be capable of anything. The thought humbled him. “You’re right.” He agreed, “It can’t. So, what do you need Princess? Glass of water? Tylenol?”

Somebody to set that damn wrist again, he nearly offered. He caught himself just in time, watching as her shoulders stilled. Maria watched him with those piercing eyes, wary and disbelieving. She opened her mouth, closed it again before she could say a word.

“Anything you want, Maria.” Varric offered softly. “Anything at all, I’ll make it happen.” 

“Keep talking.” Her voice cracked on the last word and she closed her eyes quickly, swallowing down something that almost bubbled to her lips. “Just keep talking.” 

That he could do. He took a deep breath, blew it out in a gust and let his eyes slide up to the sky above them. Nyx circled, lazily, and Varric started in on the story. 

“Did I ever tell you my editor used to be in the Kirkwall coterie?” 

xx 

Music drifted from past the door. Something with a low, rolling beat. One that settled in her stomach, pulsed brightly in her fingertips. She paused, momentarily disoriented by it. Her body, apparently, had forgotten music was even a thing. But it was, music meant home, music meant  _ Bea _ , and…

_ Bea died. In the explosion.  _

No, she corrected herself, fingers tightening on the doorknob. No, she  _ hadn’t _ . That future was gone, gone like the Rolex watch, gone the way of her sanity. Maria closed her eyes, focused on the cold metal beneath her fingertips, tried to take a deep breath. 

Above her, she felt Bull still. She knew he was watching, knew he’d been watching since Varric coaxed her off the roof, since Solas stood angrily over the healer they pressed into service knitting up her wounds and bones, since Cassandra shoved her in an SUV back to Haven. Bull insisted on staying with her, insisted on squeezing into the SUV too. He didn’t say a word except to quietly rumble, every so often, where they were. Like he could keep her with him, in the present, by reminding her that they were leaving Redcliffe. 

If she ever went back there again, it would be to burn it to the ground. 

With that thought, she pushed the door open. The music, uncomfortably loud, continued to play. Everything looked exactly the same as when she’d left that morning, from the neat stack of dishes drying by the sink to Bea’s jacket tossed carelessly over the back of an armchair. 

Everything was the same. She was the one that was different. 

“It’s a nice place, isn’t it?” Bull asked mildly, ducking in and closing the door behind them. Bea wasn’t here, though. The music was on, but Bea wasn’t… 

Panic clawed up her throat and Maria darted to the steps despite her protesting muscles, despite the scar tissue that wasn’t old enough not to stretch uncomfortably as she flew up the stairs, into the bedroom. 

She stopped just inside the loft, looking at the bed. Bea was wrapped up in the sheets, her dark curls spread over the pillows. Beside her, spread as wide as a starfish, Sera’s bottom half was the only thing covered. The gangly elf was bare as the day she was born from the waist up, snoring contently. 

A knot inside Maria loosened. In fact, a hysterical giggle formed in her chest, one that nearly erupted from her lips. Of course Bea was spending her time alone to seduce members of the Inquisition, it was so like her, so…

Tears stung her eyes and Maria couldn’t fight the urge to move forward. She settled the blanket over Sera for modesty’s sake, quietly as she could. Then she moved to Bea, laying one blood spattered hand over her sister’s soft hair. Bea didn’t shift, she continued to sleep soundly, chest rising and falling with breath. 

Alive.  _ Alive _ and  _ completely _ herself. The room smelled of sex and smoke, the good kind, and Maria could weep with the joy of it. 

“I’m sorry.” Maria whispered, her hands shaking as she pulled them away, afraid of waking her sleeping sister. Tears rolled down her cheeks, unbidden. 

“Boss.” Bull called quietly from the stairs. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.” 

That wasn’t true and Bull knew it. Maria had a million things to apologize for. But Bull’s heavy arm curled around her shoulders, guided her away from the bed. “C’mon, let’s get you in the shower before they wake up and you scare the piss out of them.” 

Bea was safe. For now, at least. But she wouldn’t be safe, not really, not as long as Dwyka was out there. Not as long as Bea followed Maria from disaster to disaster. When Bull’s foot hit the bottom stair, Maria craned her neck to look up at him. “Dwyka sent me here.” 

“Yeah. He’s the kind of asshole that would send you into a fucking war zone to make a buck.” Bull growled, although his grip on her didn’t tighten. “I didn’t think you choose to dive into this mess for a second.” 

She should have shot Dwyka that night. She  _ should _ have fucking shot him, but she couldn’t tell Bull that because he was a lawyer, and even if he was hers, there were things he couldn’t know. Things he could never know. 

Bull guided her into the bathroom, his enormous bulk crowding the small room. If Maria was any larger, he’d have to stand in the hallway. Instead, he squeezed himself into the counter next to the chintzy decorative towels and reached over her head to flip on the light. “Right. Anything in your pockets?” 

She emptied them mechanically. Her phone in the left one, with new notifications of emails and messages popping up every minute. She hadn’t looked at any of them, so she sat it face down on the counter to ignore the blinking light. There were some bullets in that pocket too, and she dumped them on the counter, watched some roll into the sink. Her hand sunk into her right pocket and she flinched. 

“Boss?” Bull asked, his one eye catching the movement. Her fingers had closed over the card in her pocket, and she thought she was going to be sick. 

_ It’s not cursed _ . 

His voice was so real, so vibrant, she could believe she was there. In that stairwell, the Champion of Kirkwall burning, Varric’s heartbroken eyes on her and his clever, careful fingers slipping the card into her pocket. 

It may not be, but she was. She pulled her fingers from her pocket like she’d been burned, clutched the porcelain counter instead until her muscles ached. Bull calmly took over, reaching to undo the zipper on her ruined coat, easing it from her sore shoulders. 

She caught his eye with hers in the mirror. Her reflection looked ghastly, even as Bull pulled away the bloody coat. There was blood in her hair, dried rivulets down her arm, soot streaking her face. 

The blood on the coat was hers. Hers and Varric’s, she thought. And Bull had heard this story before, he knew it. He knew what happened to the men who stepped into her orbit. Either they became monsters, or they got destroyed by them. There was no other way. “Varric died.” She admitted quietly. “He died to save me.” 

She’d said that to him before, but it had been Fynn’s name then, and a younger woman staring dead-eyed back at him. Bull sighed, dropping the coat directly into the rubbish bin. Maria didn’t bother trying to remove the card still in the pocket. 

“That’s not shocking if you’re paying attention, Boss.” Bull advised, reaching over her to turn the shower on. “But that’s tomorrow’s problem. Let’s deal with the rest of today first.” 

xx 

Varric was glad they sent Maria on ahead, particularly when the rest of their little caravan rolled back in at damn near three in the morning. Varric massaged his own neck while he listened to Cassandra shout orders at the new witch refugees they’d just taken in. 

Ideally, there would have been more time to evacuate them out of the town. Unfortunately, the people there had a rather distinct gleam in their eyes, one that clearly spelled violence for any witches refusing to leave. Luckily, Fiona saw sense at last. He could see the woman emerging from a borrowed bus, holding the hands of two children on either side of her. 

Just what they needed, Varric thought grimly, more innocent people under the vortex. Sweet Andraste, he hoped they managed to close it. He hoped  _ she _ managed to close it. No pressure, but they needed the win. 

“Is this all of them?” Blackwall yelled in the darkness. Someone else shouted an affirmative.

“Bianca, baby.” He began smoothly, pulling out his phone. “Can you pull up that list of housing arrangements Ruffles sent and divy it up among our people? See if we can’t get these kids in bed before dawn.” 

“I am able to do so for all of the team except for…” 

“Chuckles.” Varric groaned, rubbing his face briskly. Damnit, he was going to get the man a phone if he needed to shove it up the elf’s ass. 

“How can I help?” 

The voice was so similar to Maria’s that for a moment, in the pitch black night, he thought it was her. It wouldn’t shock him if she was up and about already. But the dwarven woman in front of him stood differently, arms folded across her chest rather than shoved in her pockets. 

“Mittens?” Varric asked, astonished, and frankly mildly alarmed. Either something was wrong or…

“Call me that  _ one _ more time, I dare you.” She tossed her hair back, Cole’s hat jammed on top of her head to keep her ears from freezing off. “What can I do to help, asshole?” 

The elf beside her, clearly Sera, snickered and blew a loud, rude raspberry. Varric laughed in spite of himself, shaking his head. “We won’t turn it down. We need someone to help Blackwall, he’s got the youngest kids, and Solas needs a partner because he’s tech challenged.” 

“Shite, not dealin’ with elven glory. You’re it.” Sera planted a sloppy, nearly obscene kiss on Bea’s head before sauntering away towards Blackwall. Varric wasn’t certain that leaving her in charge of children was the best idea, but…

“How’s Maria?” He asked, unable to help himself. Bea shrugged, her eyes focused somewhere over Varric’s shoulder. 

“She’s not saying much. She never does.” She muttered darkly. “She’s asleep now. I left Cole with her. Not sure where Bull went, thought he was trying to clear out some of the houses.” 

Quick as lightning, her eyes darted back to his, pierced him. “Bull says you saved her life.” 

Varric blinked, temporarily stunned, but Bea continued talking, eyes sliding down to her boots in the slush covered street. “And you’re still a fucking asshole, you know, but if that’s true… if you saved her then…” 

Emotion choked Bea’s voice and she shrugged under the weight of it. “She’s my sister. She’s all I have left. So, thanks.” 

Varric was almost touched, but mostly confused. “I didn’t do anything, swear on my dwarven honor.” 

Bea huffed, a bright, brief mocking laugh. “Fine. Right. Dwarven honor.” She shoved past him towards Chuckles, sending a grin with a wicked edge over her shoulder. “You don’t have to play the modest hero with me, Tethras. I’m not the sister you’re trying to sweet talk into your bed.” 

“Somehow, I don’t think sweet talk would work with you.” He muttered under his breath, ignoring the jibe. “Bianca, sent Chuckles’s part of the list to Mittens. Let her sort it out.” 

The AI beeped an affirmative and Varric rubbed his face briskly again. He needed some coffee, immediately. Instead of going in search of it, he turned to the buses and vans. He took two steps before someone raced up behind him. 

“Serah.” A soldier stopped, bending to pluck something out of the snow. She held it out to Varric pinched between two fingers. “Did you drop this?” 

He could barely make out the writing on the card in the glare of the headlights, the swarm of people casting dark shadows everywhere. When he finally figured it out, he couldn’t help but laugh. 

The Lovers had found him. Again. 

“Thanks.” Varric said dryly, taking it from the woman as she marched past. He shook his head, exasperation warring with something wistful. 

He could have lost her. He could have missed his chance. 

“Alright Hawke.” He whispered to himself. “You win.” 

xx 

Maria woke up choking on flames. In her dreams, the fire was full of demons, of monsters. They reached out for her with greedy, grasping fingers and she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t  _ breathe _ . They were screaming for her in the smoke, begging her to save them. Fynn, Bea, her grandmother, Bull, Cole, Hawke, Dorian, Cassandra, Leliana, Varric, and she couldn’t reach them. She couldn’t find them. Her skin curled into ash and she was burning, burning…

She woke up with Varric’s name stuck in her throat, the sheet plastered to her sweat soaked skin. The early dawn light filtered through the window and she clutched at the quilt over top of her, fingers twisting it so hard she thought she’d rip it. 

They were going to have to go find  _ another _ set of clean sheets because these ones smelled of fear and dread. 

“I should have been with you.” Cole’s voice, too gentle and quiet to truly startle her, drifted from the edge of the bed. “They hurt you.” 

She swallowed, but her voice still sounded raspy when she answered. “I’m fine.” 

“Not where everyone can’t see.” Cole pulled a string from the quilt and frowned at it, wrapping it around his skinny fingers. “It isn’t real. Not anymore.” 

“It was.” She felt the tears at the corners of her eyes, but they didn’t fall. She cried when Bull put her in the shower, cried and sobbed until the water went cold. But she hadn’t cried since. 

It was real. It was real the same way  _ all  _ of it had been real. Fynn’s hands over hers at his piano, Nanna coughing blood into the sink, Bea sitting, steely eyed, while the tattooist traced Dwyka’s ink onto her skin and Dwyka smirked, jerking Maria back against him. Varric’s eyes going dark, his hand reaching out for her. Real. Real, real, real…

Cole’s hand brushed the hair from her forehead and she allowed her eyes to shut once more. “You made it go away. Salt in your tears to banish demons, rage to choke them, your heart is heavy and you are tied to the ground. They can’t move mountains like you. Not anymore.” 

She got dressed, because that was a thing she could do. She didn’t bother with makeup, even though she looked too pale. She found Bea collapsed on the couch downstairs, still dressed, and draped a blanket over her before she left the house.

The town was achingly quiet, even for so early. She looked to Cole for an explanation. 

“The kids were tired. Scared. Let them sleep. Let them dream.” He answered cryptically. Well, it was as good an explanation as any. She trudged through the fresh snow to the Chantry, past the guards that saluted her smartly. She tried to smile at them, although she felt sure it came as more of a grimace than anything. 

The only voice inside the old wooden building was Leliana’s, her Orlesian accent becoming thicker as she berated someone. A young man rushed past Maria as she followed the noise, entering Leliana’s sanctum. 

The screens were black, all except one. It showed a massacre, bodies everywhere. Dwarves, mostly. Some, Maria thought she knew. She paused, letting her eyes examine them critically. Yes, she thought coldly. She knew them. Dwyka’s crew.

“I knew you’d be here soon.” Leliana hunched over a keyboard, her head in her hands. “I… I must apologize. You did exactly as you promised, delivered beyond our wildest dreams in Redcliffe despite the danger, and yet…” 

“What happened?” Maria’s voice was calm, numb. She knew what the answer would be before Leliana even said it. 

“We were betrayed. An agent, one of my oldest…” Leliana swallowed her distress, turned to meet Maria’s eyes. “Dwyka was aware of our plot. He slipped the net.” 

She wasn’t surprised. She also didn’t know whether to blame Dwyka’s  _ dumb _ luck or her shittier version of the same thing. She stared at Leliana’s face, beautiful and smooth, free of scars and open wounds. 

Leliana died for her. Bea, Cassandra, Hawke, Varric. All dead, for her. Because of  _ fucking _ Dwyka and him sending her here. And he was free, and worse, he had to know. Had to know that she had asked for this to be done. 

“It’s alright.” Maria’s voice still felt eerily calm. And, truly, it was alright. It was, perhaps, better this way. Nobody else would get in the way, nobody else would get hurt. She knew what she’d do. 

She knew who would help her.

“When can we close the vortex?” She asked instead, her brain whirling. She needed to think, she needed to plan, she needed to keep them safe. She would, this time. She’d do better. She promised herself she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone seriously think the Dwyka problem could be solved so easily?!


	29. The Moment of Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian insists Maria does something to reduce the sexual tension while she spins lies for both friends and family.  
Varric watches as the vortex is sealed, but receives alarming information from Hawke that throws everything into a tailspin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cracks knuckles and prepares to earn this E rating* 
> 
> You've been warned!

While everyone else turned their attention to the vortex, Maria’s thoughts spun at a thousand miles an hour in every other direction. Everyone seemed content to leave her be. Assumed her terse answers were in response to the mounting pressure. Varric smiled at her whenever he caught her eye, but always looked away first. Bea lived with her silence too long to question it now. Bull, his own scars locked deep inside, gave her room to breathe. Cole, of course, continued to make her coffee on mornings after sleepless nights, sat with her when her ghosts bubbled up, but said nothing except to ask if she could hear the stars yet. She couldn’t. 

Everyone accepted her silence. 

Everyone  _ except  _ fucking Dorian Pavus. 

“Sweet Andraste’s knickers.” He muttered, sitting at the kitchen counter with a large chart spread in front of him. Maria watched as he shook his head in mock alarm. “Has nobody  _ ever _ taught these poor southern bumpkins the difference between a sigil of protection and a ward of defense?” 

He tapped the pen on the chart irritably. Maria watched the ink shift, moving and rewriting into whatever Dorian thought better suited to the task at hand. “Darling, if I wasn’t here they’d kill you with their general ineptitude.” 

Maria’s coffee had gone lukewarm ages ago. Outside, she heard kids shrieking with delight at something. She thought it amazing, really, that life went on. Children continued to play, even with the vortex above them, even when Maria knew the world almost ended, even… 

“At least they’ve got Solas completing the star charts. Say what you will for his homeless hitchhiker look, but all that time in the great open wide open has done wonders for his knowledge base.” 

“Be nice.” She reprimanded without heat. Nyx chirped by his hand as if in agreement. Dorian muttered something that sounded suspiciously like an accusation of treason. 

They lapsed into silence again, Maria’s thoughts beginning to drift. It wasn’t until she realized that Dorian wasn’t mumbling to himself that she thought to look up from the mug in her hand. His dark eyes bore into her, warm and concerned. “Have you spoken to anyone about it?” He asked softly. 

“About what?” She replied, bringing the barely warm brew up to her lips. Dorian sighed wearily at her feigned ignorance, leaning back in his bar stool while tapping his pen irritably against the chart. 

“I know we do not know each other well.” He stated with a rather handsome frown. “Although, you must admit, time traveling shenanigans do tend to form a certain bond.” 

She inclined her head to show she was listening and to indicate that she agreed. Dorian… well, Dorian felt safe. Dorian, sometimes felt like the only thing she knew for certain was real. 

“I did not share the...details of our escapade. I did not feel they were all pertinent and I did not want to expose anything before you were done mulling it over in your pretty little head.” He continued, toying with the pen idly. 

“Is there a point here?” She asked, slamming her mug down on the counter beside her. She hoped he took it as a punctuation mark on this conversation. He didn’t. 

“The point is that you’re  _ clearly _ beside yourself. Everyone is running around assuming you’re worrying about your own likely demise after we throw you at that hole in the universe, but I’m not convinced that  _ you’re _ that worried about it.” Dorian set his jaw stubbornly. “So either you’re going to tell me you’ve been talking this out with someone or I’m going to remain planted firmly in this seat until you decide to discuss it with me.” 

Maria sighed and reached up to rub her forehead. Dorian didn’t look away and she finally felt her shoulders sag in surrender. “A bit. With Bull.” 

“The Qunari?” Dorian questioned, the shock setting his mustache on edge. “Well, he’s not the person I’d have chosen to confide in, but I must confess you do things in a very unique way.” 

“Bull’s…” Maria trailed off, shoved her hands deep in her pockets and shrugged. “Bull’s been there for me. Through a lot.” 

Through Fynn. Through Nanna’s death and getting out of the Carta. Then through the trial. Unwavering. “He’s never let me down.” 

A part of her shriveled up and whispered that Maria was the one who let the Iron Bull down. Quite often, in fact. 

“In that case.” Dorian settled his elbow on the counter and continued to stare at her. “Let’s talk about our favorite best selling author.” 

Maria shot a quick glance at the door, half convinced that Dorian’s words would somehow summon him. Maria herself didn’t know whether that would be a good thing or a bad one. Varric made it hard to concentrate, made it difficult to think clearly, to plan what she needed to do, how she needed to do it. 

He’d be integral to the plan, of course. She hated asking him for a favor, knew she couldn’t pay it back, but she couldn’t find a way around it. 

“If you want him to sign your books, butter him up first or he’ll charge you.” She said instead, picking her coffee mug back up to hide her expression. 

“I was actually thinking that neither of us have appropriately expressed our gratitude to him for saving our respective posteriors.” Dorian grinned, and it was such a pretty grin the instinct to throw her mug at him nearly vanished. Nearly. 

“I checked. They don’t make Hallmark cards with that on it.” She brought the mug up to her lips again and sipped at the coffee remaining. 

“Well, clearly, one of us has to sleep with him then.” 

She nearly choked on the tepid coffee. Dorian noticed, of course he fucking noticed, but he continued on regardless in that matter-of-fact tone, smirking the whole time. “As much as it pains me to admit it, I think he prefers you. Judging from the lingering, wistful looks and the amount of time he spends staring at your lovely bosom, anyway” 

“Dorian…” She protested. 

“Somehow, he seems utterly oblivious to you unbuttoning the rest of his shirt with your eyes, so I  _ insist _ you do something to reduce the sexual tension, It’s causing Nyx to molt.” 

Nyx chirped in clear agreement. 

“I can’t.” It wasn’t part of the plan. Varric  _ wasn’t _ part of the plan and if she slept with him, he’d only get hurt. She’d already gotten him killed once, after all. 

As if he read the thought in her face, Dorian softened. “Maria, he’s alive. They’re all alive and nothing bad has come of it. You  _ have _ to believe that or you’ll… you’ll drive yourself mad.” 

Her heart thudded in her ears. She closed her eyes against all the conflicting urges, the thoughts she couldn’t handle. She pictured Varric, his smile warm against her skin, his hands on her waist. His neck pierced by a demon’s claws. Her helpless to stop it. 

She shook her head. She heard Dorian sigh softly. 

“Well, if you change your mind I’ve had Nyx sneak some condoms into your bedside drawer. If I were you, I’d recommend celebrating after dealing with the vortex. You’ve certainly earned it.” She heard him roll up the chart at the same time she heard the door open. She opened her eyes immediately, half expecting to see Varric…

Instead, Bea slammed the door behind her, muttering about how her tits were freezing off. She had a bag nearly as big as her in one hand and she held it up, then pointed upstairs. “New coats. Come try ‘em on.” 

It wasn’t often she felt the desire to play dress up with Bea, and in fact it wasn’t something she really wanted to do then, but if it got her out of Dorian’s crosshairs… 

“Do you need me for anything else?” She asked, putting her mug back down. Dorian smirked.

“Oh my dear, I’ll find you if I need you.” He promised. 

Twenty minutes later, she wanted Dorian back. She vastly underestimated the amount of coats shoved in that bag and Bea wouldn’t be happy until she tried them all on. Her sister sat cross legged on the bed, examining another blighted itchy wool coat as Maria tore the one she had on off her shoulders. 

“I just wanted another coat like the one I lost in Redcliffe.” She muttered darkly. 

“Josie got one.” Bea replied serenely. “It’s in the bottom of the bag.” 

Bea’s lips twitched in amusement, so Maria threw the coat she still held at her head, diving into the bag until she found the one she wanted, the leather bomber  _ identical _ to the one Bull threw away. Maria tugged it on, relaxing in the gentle warmth of it. “She got you a spare too.” Bea teased with a grin. “I’m going to take it.” 

Bea would probably wear it better than Maria could, but she found she didn’t mind very much. She shoved her hands into the pockets and looked down at Bea, the words she’d practiced so easily coming to her mouth like a well-rehearsed play. “Did you leave anything you wanted in Ostwick?” 

Bea’s eyes shifted, wary. She leaned back on her hands and eyed Maria critically before shaking her head. “Nope. Packed up everything we needed.” 

Bea thought they were going to fight, but Maria didn’t want to. Not now. Not with her about to close the vortex tomorrow, not when her plan meant they may not see each other again for months. 

“Right.” Maria huffed, brought her hand up to her hair and pushed it away from her face. “We’re not going back.” 

Wherever Bea thought this conversation was going, it wasn’t there. Maria watched her sister’s face change, her expression lightening, surprise making her look younger. “What, really?” 

“Really.” Bea would never set foot in Ostwick again, most likely, and if she did… well, they’d both be free women then. “I need you to trust me though. It’s complicated. This shit… there’s so many people watching me.” 

“Right.” Bea leaned forward, instantly serious. “What do we need to do? How can I help?” 

“Leliana’s gonna get you and Cole out first.” This part was true, at least. “It’s easier that way. She says she’s got contacts in Antiva.” Contacts that would hide Bea, just in case. Contacts used to dealing with people with checkered pasts. 

“I’m not leaving you.” Bea set her jaw stubbornly and Maria didn’t know whether to slap her or hug her. 

“I’m not going to be able to slip away until people stop talking about me and start talking about the templars or the war in Orlais again.” Maria’s lies dripped fluently. Artfully. They had to, if they were going to fool Bea. “It might take months. Dwyka isn’t going to wait that long, and the second he realizes I’m not coming back  _ you’re _ not safe.” 

She couldn’t let anything happen to her sister. She couldn’t lose her. She saw Bea open her mouth to argue, and Maria put the last nail in the coffin. “We do it this way or I’m going back.” 

Back to Dwyka. Back to that water stained hellhole, back to his fingers in her hair and his fetid breath against her neck. Her tone, flat and serious, brooked no argument. It shut Bea up more effectively than anything else Maria could have said, even if the mutiny in Bea’s eyes didn’t die down. Bea considered that statement, held it in her mouth so she could taste the bitterness of it too. 

“Promise.” She finally demanded. “Promise you’ll come find us. Promise you won’t go back.” 

She couldn’t go back. She could never go back. She had tasted freedom, she had tasted death. She couldn’t forget them. “I promise. If you do this, you’ll never have to see him again.” 

Bea nodded, ducked her chin down to stare at her hands in her lap. “I’m going with you tomorrow. I’m not staying down here.” 

_ Would you believe I tried to keep her safe, Princess? Thought it was the absolute least I could do if I couldn’t save you. _

“Fine.” Maria sighed, unwilling to fight that battle when Bea had given in and Varric’s voice still haunted her. She rubbed her temple, the words out before she even thought them through. “But you’ll stay with Varric. Swear it.” 

Bea’s lips twisted into a wry little smirk. “Poor Varric. Does he know what he’s in for?” 

Maker, she hoped so. Either way, she knew he’d keep her sister safe. She trusted that. 

The next day dawned bright, clear. The cold sun sparkled high up above the mountains and the air felt crisp, clean in Maria’s lungs. Better, by far, than the air choking the streets of Ostwick. There could be something to all the claims of the great outdoors being good for you after all. She’d miss Haven, she really would. 

“The arrangements are made for your sister and Cole to leave tomorrow.” Leliana walked beside her, hood up, hands crammed in her own pockets. “Are… are you certain you wish to stay?” 

“As long as Bea’s safe, I don’t care what happens. Dwyka will come find me, but we’ll be ready.” Maria tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, looked up into Leliana’s serious eyes and lied through her teeth. “It’ll be alright as long as you can keep Bea out of sight.” 

“I swear.” Leliana promised. “Be careful. I will wait for news.” 

They turned the corner to see a crowd of people assembled. Dorian, Solas, Vivienne barking orders at witches. Cullen and Cassandra doing the same for the soldiers. Sera rooting through a bag hooked to one of the ATVs while Cole watched her anxiously. Harding’s drone dipped low in the air, and there…

Bea and Varric stood together, both of them watching something on Varric’s phone. Bea shook her head, curls bouncing, but Maria could see her smile. Varric chuckled and the wind carried the rich sound. It landed in her stomach like hot chocolate, like whiskey and good coffee. 

Maria’s heart skipped a beat. No, she reminded herself. No, you can’t have him. You can’t want him. Maria would ruin him. 

_ It’s enough to live in a world where you existed. _

His words, but she was the one that needed to live by them, despite the small, hungry part of her whispering back. 

_ It isn’t enough. _

She wanted more. But she knew better than to want. 

xx

Varric could have lived without getting this close to the spiraling rift of doom in the sky again. Yet again, he was on the edge of the crater. Yet again, he was about to send Maria down into it. Sure, this time they had backup, but it still felt uncomfortably close to the first time they’d climbed up this mountain. 

Varric didn’t think they’d come back down the first time. Now, he was counting on her emerging the way she came through everything else they’d thrown at her. 

“She stepped out of that?” Bea asked, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. “It looks like something out of a nightmare up close.” 

He nearly told her she should have seen it spitting demons and tearing cracks in the world, but thought better of it. Instead Varric tilted his head as if appraising the thing. “I don’t know. I think it has a certain charm to it in that ‘near-miss apocalypse’ kind of way.” 

Bea ignored him, turning her chin down to glance at her phone. Beside her, Cole shifted, nose lifted to scent the wind. 

“It isn’t enough.” Cole whispered. Bea let her eyes flick to him, but Varric followed Cole’s gaze to where it landed, right between Maria’s shoulder blades. 

It had to be enough. Enough power, enough strength. It had to get her through, because if it didn’t…

The Lover sat in his pocket like a weight. But Cole’s smile was weightless as he turned to him, joy dancing in his pale eyes. “Yes.” Cole breathed. “Yes,  _ that _ . The words are hard, heavy, but not for you. You can set them free.” 

“I’m lost.” Bea sighed, dropping her phone back in her pocket. The action was like a signal, he heard Solas shout for the witches to focus. They ringed the perimeter of the crater, their hands clasped, and Maria carefully slipped underneath them. For a second, she balanced precariously between the hole in the ground and safety. 

His own breath caught in his throat. Bea made a noise and a small, desperate movement like she’d lunge forward. Cole caught her arm and Varric fought the urge to push forward himself. 

She’d be fine. She was always fine. She looked over her shoulder as Varric felt the magic swirl around them, the witches channeling their mana. 

“Varric, Hawke is on the line.” 

The voice in his ear was an unwelcome distraction, and he ripped the earpiece from his ear immediately, shoving it in his pocket. Hawke could damn well wait her turn. 

There were sparks, beautiful, blinding lines of flames running from witch to witch. Maria slid down the rocky slope, Solas following her. He placed one hand over her shoulder, his long fingers curling carefully. Varric watched the elf lean down, smiling, and Maria smirked in return. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He dug into the coat and pressed the button to silence it without looking, unwilling to tear his eyes away from Maria as she turned to the crack in the world. Wind tore her hair from the bun she’d twisted it into, lines of fire against the darkness, against the brightness. Varric held his breath as Maria raised her hand, the light illuminating her. 

Andraste herself couldn’t have been more beautiful. 

The energy pulsed from her hand, sent rocks skittering up the slope, a bright burst of light and sound that made his eardrums pop. He moved to shield Bea, but she shoved past him. Before he could catch her, the light cleared.

The vortex vanished, knitting itself together from where Maria stood, the whole way up into the sky. Varric just caught Bea’s coat, held it tight until the lights from the witches dimmed. Until a cheer began to erupt from the soldiers. 

Bea tore free and whooped, racing down the crater, sending rocks in a small avalanche as she scurried gracefully down the unsteady earth, nearly colliding with Maria at the center. Maria caught her, but looked up instead, past the witches, straight at him. A small, hesitant smile curled her lips and Varric grinned in return until she dropped her eyes to Bea. 

His phone buzzed again and he bit off a curse, pulling it from his pocket and looking at the screen. Three missed calls. All from Hawke. 

But it was the texts that made his blood run cold.

_ H: srsly? NOW u choose now to not answer your phone?  _ _   
_ _ H: Varric! U short asshole. _ _   
_ _ H: listen up u little shit i’m not calling for no reason _ _   
_ _ H: VARRIC _ __   
  


Even as he read, the next message rolled in. A picture, two cards. Varric’s hair stood on the back of his neck as the joyful cacophony of celebration faded from his awareness until he felt he may have well have been standing on the edge of the abyss, alone. 

The picture showed the Hermit, standing in the snow, the mountains against her back. And crossed over top of it…

A skeleton on a dark horse, scythe in hand. Death, coming to collect what was owed. 

\--

Why? Why  _ now _ ? Varric kept waiting for the sky to split back open, for the demons to start dropping, bombs and gunfire, but nothing happened. Nothing happened at all. 

Hawke got it wrong, he argued with himself. She’d gotten Redcliffe wrong, hadn’t she? He’d just stood there with his pants flapping around his ankles while Maria went around punching Magisters. 

Except Bull said Varric  _ had _ saved her, just like Hawke said he would. He’d thought them both confused, clearly, but if they weren’t…

If Hawke was right then… well, maybe her powers weren’t on the fritz like he hoped. And if they weren’t…

But there was music playing, cheerful and upbeat, from speakers, from phones, a medley of songs that varied from street to street as the village poured out of their houses with beer, with candy, firecrackers, the good whiskey they hid in their closets. Everyone was laughing, children were running through the crowd, voices bubbling together with merriment, with sheer relief, and Maria…

Maria sparkled in the streetlights as night fell, passed from person to person. He hadn’t seen her own smile look so light, so relieved, since they went to Val Royeaux. He watched, heartsick, when Bea pulled Maria back into a mass of writhing, spiraling bodies. He could see her shaking her head, hear her smoky laughter as she protested even from where he stood in the shadows, nursing a beer he barely had the stomach to touch.

“Varric, I could do this a hundred more times.” Hawke told him when he called her back, frantic and harried. “They always come up together. Every. Single. Damn. Time. Whatever’s coming, it’s coming soon, and it’s coming right at her.” 

Real fucking specific, Hawke. He thought, pissed. As fucking usual. But it wasn’t her fault, and he knew it. Hawke seemed just as panic-stricken as he was that Death and Maria were tangled up together in their own dance, one she couldn’t seem to escape from. 

Maria slipped from the press of bodies her sister dragged her into, shaking her head in fond exasperation, wiping her hands on her jeans, pulling the zipper of her coat down as she swung her gaze across the crowd, pushing red hair away from her face with her free hand. So vibrant and brilliant, Varric couldn’t look away. 

If she felt the weight of his gaze, she didn’t show it. She sauntered, casually, to the drinks. She grabbed a bottle, but instead of spinning to return to the party, she ducked into a side street. Varric didn’t quite bite back a groan.

Ulcers. She’d give him ulcers. 

He followed her away from the noise, watching as she vanished around the next corner. He nearly lost her as she veered left, but he knew where she was going after that. Could see the little house she inhabited just up the block, the kitchen light on even though both Cadash girls were out and about. 

When she walked up the back steps, the light caught her face. Maybe it was the harsh shadows, but she suddenly looked both tired and unbearably sad. Varric wondered if this quiet, private moment was the first time she’d felt she could let her guard down all night. She paused, hand on the doorknob, silent and still. 

A part of him wanted to let her be. The rest of him couldn’t get rid of the skeleton burned into the back of his eyelids. 

“You coming, Tethras?” She asked, looking over her shoulder to where Varric thought he had nicely tucked himself into the shadows. 

He laughed because he couldn’t help it, stalking up the back steps behind her in a moment. “Well, if I’m invited.” 

If he was with her, he’d be able to stop the danger when it dropped in their laps. He knew it was coming, he could do something. 

Isn’t that what Hawke always told herself anyway? 

“I wanted to ask you something, but I haven’t been able to find you all damn night.” She paused, pulling her phone from her pocket and fumbling for one of the power cords dangling from the counter. “Thought you were avoiding me.” 

“Never.” He lied, watching as her phone screen flickered back to life, the battery showing a whopping one percent charge. “I didn’t want to steal you away from your adoring public.” 

“People won’t stop texting. Emailing. Josie keeps sending them to me and I…” Maria grinned sheepishly. “I turned my sound off, honestly.” 

“That’s why I don’t answer my emails.” Varric advised sagely, shutting the door behind him. The noise of the parties outside grew dim, the music lingering in the background no more than white noise. “You just get more of them if you do.” 

“Noted.” She stated wryly, leaning back on the counter and popping the tab off the bottle in her hand. She held it up and Varric tapped his own disappointing bottle against hers. “Cheers, Varric.” 

“Cheers, Princess.” He watched, momentarily captivated, driven to distraction by her pink lips wrapped tight around the bottle. Something inside him shifted, reminded him that they were  _ alone _ , maybe for the first time since that night he’d captured her against the piano in Val Royeaux. They were alone, and she stretched languorously as she sat the bottle down. 

Varric’s mouth went dry and he focused instead on the conversation while she shrugged off her coat. “What do you need, beautiful? I live to serve.” 

She rolled her eyes and threw her coat on one of the barstool chairs, the ones too tall for either of them to sit in without feeling ridiculous. He followed her lead, shrugging off his own coat and tossing it over hers. She rolled her shoulders and frowned, picking the bottle up again and staring into it. “You said you’d help me if I wanted to leave.” 

He had said that, hadn’t he? It didn’t matter if he currently would rather her stay exactly where she was, surrounded by soldiers and a nice little army of pleasant religious fanatics devoted to her. “Did you pick a place yet?” He slid into warm teasing. “I’ve got suggestions if you’re up for them.” 

“Ostwick.” She answered immediately. 

For a second, he thought he misheard. There clearly had to be something, somewhere, that rhymed with Ostwick and that’s what she said. “Sorry, Princess. I didn’t catch that.” 

She didn’t pull her eyes from the bottle and Varric’s stomach settled somewhere around his knees. “Ostwick.” She repeated, avoiding his eyes studiously. “I need to get to Ostwick sometime in the next couple days.” 

“I think my offer was to help you go somewhere else, Maria.  _ Anywhere  _ else.” His temple throbbed, and he closed his eyes, the skeleton still burned onto his eyelids like it was in fucking neon. 

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” Maria took a gulp from the bottle, sat it back down. She still didn’t meet his eyes, examined her shoes instead. He watched, strangely detached, as her thumb traced the little tattoo on her wrist. “I’ll pay you back somehow, I swear.” 

She wouldn’t, because she’d be dead.  _ This _ had to be what Hawke saw, not demons and calamity, but a rash decision to flee. Flee back to…

_ Dwyka. _

He’d kill her. Of course he’d kill her. Varric never had the dubious honor of meeting the infamous asshole, but he knew the type. He wouldn’t be able to stomach living in Maria Cadash’s shadow after she saved the fucking world. He’d try to beat it out of her, and when he couldn’t… 

“Why?” He wanted to shake her. He wanted to grab her by her shirt, haul her back out to the crowd, keep walking until he found the Seeker, and tell her to throw Maria back in a cell until she came to her senses. 

She finally looked at him, her eyes perfectly clear, perfectly sane. Almost eerily calm. “There’s something I have to do before anyone else gets hurt.” 

“Anyone  _ except _ you?” He asked, incredulously. 

“I can take care of myself.” She set her jaw stubbornly, and Ancestors, she shouldn’t look so damn attractive doing it. She held his eyes, and he could let himself be mesmerized by them, it would be damn easy to let her talk him into sending her to Ostwick.

If he did it, he may as well send her in a coffin. 

“What are you going to do? Are you  _ seriously _ thinking of going back to… back to…” He couldn’t make his mouth say it. Couldn’t handle the thought of Dwyka’s fingers around her wrist, the one that snapped so easily. He couldn’t think of her underneath that man, he couldn’t… 

“Varric…” He could hear the plea in her voice, see it in her gray eyes and he turned from them, darting away from the warm glow of the kitchenette and into the living room, his back to her. 

“Don’t ask me to do this.” He begged the darkness in front of him because he couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at her without seeing another woman asking him to accept an impossible situation, to aid and abet it with a smile on his face. “I’m not sending you back to Ostwick. I’m not sending you back so he can murder you.” 

“Not if I kill him first.” 

Her voice was nearly silent, but he heard every word. He spun back to her, saw how she stood in the kitchen, hands shoved in the pockets of her jeans, eyes blazing. Solid, sturdy, broken and haunted just like every other holy thing he’d ever been shown. She lifted her chin like a queen and stared him down. “I’m going back to Ostwick to find him. And then I’m going to kill him.” 

“Alone.” Varric repeated, relief breaking out over him like a cold sweat. His heart thudded in his chest unevenly. She wasn’t returning to become a victim, but to wreck bloody vengeance. “You’re going back to kill Dwyka.  _ Alone _ .” 

“Yes.” She confirmed tersely. “And if you won’t help me, I’ll find another way.” 

Death clearly still waited in the wings if she went. But maybe… maybe he didn’t need to stop her from going. He just needed to stop her from going  _ alone _ . If she didn’t go alone, if she took someone who had her back… 

“Not alone.” Maria’s shoulders tensed, but Varric plowed on, crossing back to her small form in the kitchen until he stood in front of her. “I’ll help, but I’m coming too.” 

“No.” She snapped impatiently, looking away. 

“Not up for discussion.” 

“This isn’t your problem.” Maria hissed. Varric reached out, caught her shoulder before she could twist away from him. She turned back at the immovable weight of his palm on her shoulder, glaring at him. “Damnit, why? Why in the void would you want to…” 

There was only one reason, but it was a damn good one. As she spoke, he ran his palm up her shoulder, fingers brushing up her neck until he cupped her face in his hand. Her voice hitched, the words failing her, and she stared at him. He saw himself reflected back in those stunning eyes as he leaned forward. 

“Because I’m sick of near misses with you.” He growled softly, closing the last inch between them, pressing his lips against hers. 

Soft. Softer than he thought they would be, and warm. He could taste the malt of the beer she drank lingering on her lips, but she’d frozen underneath him. He pulled back, saw that her eyes fell closed, the breath she exhaled sounded shaky. 

He crossed a line, one she didn’t want crossed. He pushed where he shouldn’t have. He began to withdraw, pulling back, pulling away. The sting of rejection pierced his heart and he conjured an apology to his lips, opened his mouth to let the words soothe this away. 

Then Maria’s eyes opened. 

They were blown dark as the night sky, more pupil than iris. Color flooded her cheeks and she stepped forward, even as he pulled back. Her hands rose to his jaw, thumbs brushing against his stubble, and she crashed against him, demanding even as the hands holding his face shook. 

Varric knew an order when he saw one. His own eyes closed while he opened his mouth under her sweet assault, tongue meeting hers in a frantic dance. He dropped his hands to her waist, pulled her body flush to him so he could feel every inch of her, every tremor, every delighted shiver. 

Her hands found his hair, tangled in it while she pressed against him more insistently, desperately. But if she was a woman starved, he was a man dying of thirst finally arrived at the oasis. He slipped his hands under the back of her shirt, the thin cotton soft, but not nearly as soft as the warm, silken skin underneath. Maria choked on a little moan and Varric felt her shaking fingers, clumsy with need, tug the tie from his hair roughly enough that he winced. 

“Sorry.” She pulled away, breathless, but Varric was beyond caring about a few lost hairs. He captured her mouth with his again, letting one of his own hands reach up to, much more gently, pull her own bun free. He let the tie fall to the floor and slipped his fingers through the soft fall of crimson, slowing their kiss as he changed the angle of it. 

Maria protested with a whine as he dragged his lips from her mouth, trailing kisses down her neck instead. She rocked against him, the slow drag of her jeans against his waist threatening to cause a very intense reaction in him. His eyes fluttered closed and he breathed her name against her shoulder like a prayer. 

“Damn you.” She cursed, all heat, no venom. His only response was to nip lightly at the exposed skin of her throat. He was rewarded with another delicious shiver and a throaty moan that carried  _ his _ name. All of his blood quickly rushed to pool in his groin, his cock stiffening traitorously in his pants. 

Varric was consumed with the need to wring that sound out of her pretty, kiss swollen lips again. The rest of the night, if he had his way. She tugged his mouth back to hers impatiently, claimed his lips with ruthless desire. 

Varric let his hands slip from her waist, down the delectable curve of her ass squeezed into those jeans. He wanted them off, he wanted her bare beneath him, safe, not rushing off into a monster’s den with nothing but her gun and wits.

The thought made him growl into her kiss, his hands squeezing her ass before he hefted her weight easily, lifting her off her feet while continuing their passionate, heated kiss. She made a noise that sounded clearly like assent, thighs clambering around his waist, fingers dropping from his hair to dig into his shoulders. The couch was closer, he could bend her over it, rip the rest of her clothes from her body and finally,  _ finally _ make good on the sparks that had been flying between them since the day he caught sight of her.

He wanted her in bed, though. A real fucking bed, not a quick fuck on a couch like they were randy teenagers. He wanted to make this last, give her a damn reason to stay with him. Wanted to drive every thought out of her head except  _ his _ name. 

Her nails scratched against his chest and suddenly getting to bed seemed more urgent than anything else Varric had ever done in his life. He shifted her weight, tore his lips away to focus on navigating the room. 

It didn’t help that the second he relinquished her lips, her clever tongue traced its way up his jaw, her teeth playfully nipping at his earlobe. The pulse of desire caused him to swear, to tighten his hold on her even as his vision swam in a sea of red hair and dark shadows. Need, blinding hot, sang through his veins. 

He took a second to wonder if he’d been lured to his doom by a desire demon wearing Maria’s face. Her fingers were between them, undoing buttons as quickly as she could find them, and he decided in the next second he’d risk it. He took a step forward, near blind, but his feet hit the stairs with another step and he groaned while Maria’s hand slipped beneath his shirt. He took the first step and she stopped, eyes flicking back to his, both concerned and amused.

“Varric, are you seriously going to carry me up these stairs?” 

“That’s the plan, beautiful.” Maria tightened her grip around his shoulders, eyes still on his. He was gratified to see the rather grudging admiration in her eyes as he continued to navigate the staircase. 

Of course, she ruined it by rolling her hips against his, the sweet friction of her core catching the bulge in his own pants and causing him to very nearly drop her. She laughed, smooth as smoke, even while she clung to him tighter. He flew up the rest of the steps, pausing only long enough to let her reach back for the light switch, casting the room into a warm yellow glow. Then he swept her away to the low bed, dropping her on it immediately. She bounced once, but was up on her elbows immediately, hair mused, eyes sparkling, skin flushed. Varric stood above her just long enough to finish the rest of the buttons she missed, tossing the shirt impatiently to the floor. 

Her eyes traced his chest hungrily, lingering pointedly on the hair densely covering his chest, then following it as it trailed, narrowing, across his stomach and into his pants. Varric grinned at the hunger playing over her features, feeling like he’d regained some control of the situation. 

He lost it immediately. Taking his lead, Maria reached briskly for her own shirt and pulled it smoothly over her head in one sensuous motion. Varric’s mouth went dry and his cock, trapped inside his pants, pulsed painfully. 

Maria’s body… he didn’t know whether to thank the Maker for it or their glorious ancestors. He’d been a gentleman the first time he manhandled her, checking for gang tattoos as the world fell to pieces around him, ignoring the whispers of desire. This time, even if wanted to, there was no ignoring the screeching need in his blood. She was pale, creamy skin glowing like pearls in the moonlight. The freckles that dashed across her nose were sprinkled liberally across her shoulders. The plain cotton bra that hid her breasts from closer inspection did nothing to conceal the size and shape of them. A chain fell into the valley of her cleavage, something beautiful sparkling there, but it wasn’t enough to distract him. Her body curved in at the waist, flared back out into the lush softness of her belly, her glorious hips. 

Perfect. She was perfect. And she was smiling, radiant and sensual, confident in her raw sexuality. Varric was undone before her slender, nimble fingers even traced the straps of her bra, her eyebrows rising in challenge. “Think you can manage a bra clasp, Varric?” 

Let it never be said that Varric Tethras couldn’t rise to the occasion. He was above her in a heartbeat, pulling her flush against his bare chest again, the slide of skin on skin enough to make him weak. He captured her teasing lips once more, running his palm up the length of her spine before coming to the clasp sitting just above it.

He even managed to do it one handed for the little minx underneath him.

She giggled like she’d read his thoughts, quickly shrugging out of the scrap of fabric. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Varric’s hands moved like they had a mind of their own, sliding back up her warm alabaster skin, impatiently brushing the necklace aside without a second glance to cup the globes revealed in all their glory, thumbs sliding over pebbling nipples. Maria’s words turned into a desperate, needy moan and she arched into his touch. 

“I’ve wanted this since the first time I saw you.” He whispered, lowering his mouth back to her neck, skimming his lips across her thudding pulse point. “You underneath me. On top of me. In front, on your knees. On  _ my  _ knees while I show you what my silver tongue can do. Hell, in my mind I’ve had you a hundred ways since the day you fell out of the sky.” 

“Varric…” She keened his name, nails scrambling to clutch at his shoulders as he ghosted his lips over her collarbones, down, breath hot and urgent against her skin. She rocked her hips up again and Varric felt something like an electric shock race down his spine, his own breath turning ragged. 

“I’ve got a vivid imagination, Princess. Writer’s curse.” He grinned, catching the whimper she tried to stifle. She made the best little noises, just like he knew she would, soft and feminine. Each one sent another jolt to his aching cock and he quickly reached one hand down, undoing a button to help relieve some of the unbearable pressure. “And we’ve got all night.” 

She swore and he let his tongue flick the tip of her nipple while his other hand gently tweaked the neglected one. “Say my name, beautiful.” 

She obliged, his name a sharp cry as he attacked her breasts with gusto, switching between gentle licks, suction, playful nips he soothed with his tongue. He switched his attention back and forth, his fingers mimicking his mouth on the other as he pushed her higher and higher. She was so sensitive, her cries quickly becoming incoherent, a littany of curses, his name, pleas to her ancestors, Andraste, urging him to keep going, to stop and please just  _ fuck _ her. 

He would. His cock demanded it and he didn’t even  _ care _ that he didn’t have a condom, sense blown right out the window by the roaring inferno of lust. He didn’t even have her pants off and he could smell her, the scent of arousal heady as fine wine. 

He let go of her nipple with an obscene pop. She was panting, a thin sheen of sweat covering her skin, and he’d never been this fucking hard before, never wanted anything so much, but he had to taste her first. Had to have her legs over his shoulders before he finally sank into her warm, welcoming heat. He slid down her legs and pulled her gently closer to the edge of the low mattress, undoing his own zipper to free his cock, but he didn’t risk touching himself, couldn’t trust himself not to veer off and ruin his finely crafted plan. 

He tugged her boots off impatiently, socks following in short order. She pushed herself back up on shaking limbs, eyes watching him as he sunk to his knees, his fingers plucking the button on her jeans, undoing the zipper carefully. His voice shook as he inched them down her creamy thighs, eyes on hers. 

“I’m gonna spend some quality time down here beautiful.” He wished his voice sounded steadier, but it sent a shiver through her anyway, he felt it under his fingers. “You alright with that?” 

“Fuck.” Her eyes were glued to his movements like a fish on a hook. “Fuck, you’re trying to kill me.”

He was trying to keep her  _ alive _ and if this was what he had to do… well, he couldn’t complain. A siren wailed outside, like one from a fire station, and dammit, that probably meant Sera had done some sort of entertaining mischief, but Varric didn’t stop until her pants were off, until nothing but a thin scrap of silk separated him from his goal. 

His mouth watered, but he was distracted momentarily by spiraling ink high up on her thigh. A band of lace, traced into her skin by skillful hands, the dips and curves of black mesmerizing. He looked up from the tattoo, up the length of her body, and met her lust darkened eyes. “Nice ink.” 

Maria’s blatant hunger didn’t fade from her face, but her lips quirked into something soft. “I’m fond of it.” She admitted. He ran his fingers over the smooth lines and decided that was as good a place as any to start. When he pressed his lips against the soft skin of her thigh, tracing the lines with his tongue, Maria gasped audibly. 

She fell back, bucking underneath him already, cursing him for his teasing while he smiled into her skin. Another siren joined the first, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care, her legs fell open and he was so close, so close…

Downstairs, the door banged open. He barely heard it over her reverberating moan, but enough of him was still functioning to know that a door banging open couldn’t  _ possibly _ be good for his unbearable state of arousal. 

He’d fucking shoot them. If someone so much as came up those stairs, he’d…

“Herald! Herald!” 

Of  _ course _ it was fucking Curly, and of course his feet were on the bottom step. Varric heard it creak under the human’s weight. He grabbed the closest scrap of fabric he could and threw it towards Maria, fumbling to shove his cock back in his pants despite the painful throb, despite his body protesting vigorously. 

Despite the urge to give Curly a fucking show about what one did with beautiful dwarven damsels who teased a man to the edge of the void. 

Maria sat up, clutching his shirt against her chest, snapping her legs closed and Varric was going to kill the man with his bare hands, was going to strangle him and throw him out in the snow…

“Herald! Herald, we…” 

Curly had his assault rifle in his hands, but he nearly dropped it when he crested the stairs and took in the scene before him. Varric, bare chested, on his knees at the foot of the bed. Maria clutching his shirt and nothing else for modesty, all creamy naked skin flushed with heat and, Varric suspected, a healthy amount of anger. 

“What?” Maria snapped. Cullen’s mouth was hanging open, jaw so wide he could have swallowed Dorian’s bird whole. Varric watched his open mouth work to try and say something, his eyes unwillingly tracing the line of Maria’s shoulder. 

“Maker’s breath.” Cullen exhaled, color rising in his face, raising the rifle as if he could cover his eyes with it. 

“CULLEN!” Maria yelled, turning red as her hair, eyes crackling with fury. 

“Hey Curly.” Varric tried for casual. Hard to do with his cock painfully shoved back in his trousers and Maria’s scent still hanging in the air, his face  _ so _ damn close to his intended destination. “Fancy meeting you here.” 

That jerked Cullen from his reverie, made him squeeze his eyes shut so firmly Varric wouldn’t be shocked if the man had a stroke. Another siren went off in the distance and dread began to trickle into the warm bubble in Varric’s stomach.

“We are under attack.” Cullen’s words flew from between his clenched teeth even as his neck took on a splotchy red hue. “Please… please get dressed and join me outside. Quickly.” 

Well,  _ shit _ . Varric swallowed his dismay, ignored the ache in his groin, and whipped his head back around to stare at Maria. The color was draining from her face and Varric’s stomach lurched.

Varric thought he cheated Hawke’s cards. But if anyone should have known better, it was him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DAMNIT CULLEN. 
> 
> Cock-blocked by Corypheus.


	30. The Things in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team decides to hit back as hard as they can.  
Varric finally finds his excuse to hijack Harding's drone.  
Maria finds a reason to stay brave in the chaos.

Varric’s hand lingered on the small of Maria’s back, a potent reminder of his taste in her mouth, his whiskey smooth voice growling decadent promises against her skin. She could still feel his rough stubble against her thighs, prickling the sensitive skin of her breasts. She remembered his muscles, coiled under her fingertips. Both dangerous and  _ safe _ because he was Varric, and if his teeth nipped, he soothed the sting away immediately. Each touch able to light her on fire from the inside out. 

She hadn’t been thinking clearly when she fell into his embrace. His touch awakened something, some hidden, primal monster inside her that  _ demanded _ more, insisted her fears, her worries didn’t matter. All that mattered was his skin against hers, his voice growling in his ear, his fingers and mouth and tongue and…

It felt like a dream already, something dashed against harsh reality. 

It was probably for the best. Nothing had changed. Nothing at all except she  _ knew _ now how effortlessly he could unmake her, how easy it was to let him in, and she could never forget it. Never. If they hadn’t been stopped, if Cullen hadn’t come to find her...

Maria didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Thwarted desire burned fiercely in her stomach next to bubbling fear. The ache of unfulfilled longing beat alongside pure panic and Varric’s hand remained resolutely on the small of her back like an anchor. 

Under attack. Under attack,  _ now _ ? By who? Why? She slammed the vortex shut, exactly what she was supposed to, and Haven was finally safe.  _ They _ were safe, she’d never have to worry about demons or magic ever again. She could return to the monsters that lived in the real world instead of the ones crawling through cracks in reality. 

“Ria!” Bea’s shriek carried across the tense square by Haven’s gate, both alarmed and relieved. Her sister broke from Bull’s grip, racing to throw her arms around Maria’s neck. She nearly toppled under the force of the tackle, but managed to steady both Bea and herself before they fell to the concrete. She got her feet solidly beneath her just in time to feel Bea stiffen and to hear her sniff, audibly at Maria’s neck. 

Varric’s cologne, subtle and undoubtedly expensive, clung to her skin like a memory. Beatrix placed the smell immediately and pulled away to sweep a critical gaze over Maria. She imagined Bea could trace Varric’s leisurely path from her kiss-swollen lips, through her mused hair, scraping down to the blighted underwear that stuck uncomfortably to her when she walked. 

Bea’s accusing eyes swung right to Varric over Maria’s shoulder. He hastily dropped his hand from her back, but not before Bea noted that too with narrowed eyes and a twitch of her button nose. She didn’t look away from Varric as she uttered one word. “Seriously?” 

Cullen coughed awkwardly and Maria flushed in the cold despite herself. Sweet sodding ancestors and Andraste’s heaving tits, she was going to kill them all. 

“Yes, Mittens?” Varric asked, all playful innocence and teasing, flirtatious innuendo. Bea’s lips pressed into a tight, narrow line and she turned her scorching glare onto Maria. 

Maria spent a lot of time on the other end of Bea’s hostile gaze, but she never got used to it. Unfortunately for Bea, in this instance, Maria had also spent entirely too much of her life pulling her sister out of beds, couches, showers and a plethora of not-quite-dark-enough clubs to really feel like Bea had any room to talk at all. Especially since, really,  _ nothing _ had happened. 

“Seriously?” Maria echoed flatly, letting her eyes skip to Sera behind Bea’s back. She was in the midst of using Blackwall like a damn ladder to climb on top of a building, vanishing as she vaulted over the gabled roof in a flurry of garish leggings and studded leather. Bea opened her mouth, brash and unashamed, to defend herself but Dorian very nearly shoved her aside in his haste. “Ah, good. You’ve finally arrived. We have a rather serious problem.” 

With practiced elegance, Dorian managed to insert himself between Maria and Varric, sweeping her out from even Cullen’s protective shadow before Bea could continue pitching her little tantrum. He slipped one hand onto her shoulder lightly and squeezed it firmly. She looked up at him, his striking face cast in harsh shadows. “We’re under attack?” 

“It does appear so.” Dorian kept his voice carefully light. “More information would be helpful, but the boy is distraught. I was informed you alone could calm him.” 

Maria didn’t need to ask who. “Where is he?” 

Cole rocked back and forth in the dirt, arms twisted around his skinny knees, Vivienne and Solas above him. Vivienne’s boot tapped an impatient rhythm on the sidewalk and the gentle murmuring falling from Solas’s mouth appeared to be doing little to soothe him. Leliana paced nearby, gesturing angrily as she snapped at someone on her phone while Josephine wrung her hands nearby. The rest of their team stood in a tight, wary circle. They parted as she approached, falling beside her effortlessly. 

Maria sank into a crouch beside Cole, the same way she had the first time she met him. She remembered it rained that day and she’d been soaked through, shivering her tits off, waiting for a smuggler to show up for hours. The sea pitched gray foam and everything smelled foul. When she’d finally handed off the lyrium, all she could think about was going home and crawling into bed with a cup of Nanna’s favorite hot tea, then staying there the rest of the night. 

Instead, she’d found Cole. She pictured him as he’d been: bleeding, hiding behind a massive cargo container, whimpering just like he was now. Maria gently reached out the same way she had that evening, letting her fingers brush his shoulder as lightly as she could. “Hey kid. You alright?” 

She didn’t flinch, expecting his white knuckled grip to fly to her hand on his shoulder. The first time, he’d moved so quickly she barely registered it all, had her other hand halfway to the piece in her waistband before she’d realized he was clutching onto her fingers for dear life. 

This time she wrapped her fingers tightly around his and shushed him softly. “It’s alright Cole. I’m here.” 

“It sings.” Cole whimpered, clutching her till her bones ached and ground together in protest. “Sick songs. Red songs. The pieces jar, they wanted to make the world safe but they swallowed lies and poison. It sings and it won’t stop. It won’t stop. It won’t…” 

_ Bea sings because she’s trying to drown out… whatever the fuck she hears in her head now. She says it’s a song. _

But it wasn’t real. It wasn’t  _ real _ and it could  _ never _ be real. The urge to look away from Cole, to look back over her shoulder and make sure Bea’s eyes didn’t gleam red, that Varric’s form wasn’t marred by scars and battle, was hard to resist. But she managed to keep her eyes locked on Cole. “Red songs?” She repeated. 

“They’re red inside.” Cole confirmed, his pale eyes finally visible under the jagged fall of his hair. They rolled from side to side, like a spooked animal looking for escape. Maria clenched her own fingers back around his, trying to pull him back.

“Who?” She asked tersely. Cole’s frightened gaze finally locked on her own. 

“The templars.” He whispered. “They’re coming. They’ll kill you. They killed Rhys, they killed my friend, they’ll kill everyone and it’ll be red. It’ll all be red.” 

“Shit.” Varric swore softly from behind her. “Shit. That… that sounds to me like the Templars decided to follow in Meredith’s rather insane footsteps. I guess they didn’t get the ‘shrieking insanity’ portion of the memo.” 

“This?” Cullen’s shock was palatable, his voice clearly shaken. “This is the order’s response to our enlisting the witches? Red lyrium and attacking blindly?” 

“The guards at the mountain pass checkpoint are all silent. I cannot reach any of them, I have pulled the rest back.” Leliana snapped. “I do not know how many soldiers are coming, but it is a force that could easily take Haven. I have tried all… all avenues to ask for assistance.”

Leliana reached up to touch her covered forearm, frowning in disappointment. Josephine jumped in. “Help is on the way, but it takes time to mobilize forces, time to get them here, time we do not…” 

“They killed Rhys!” Cole wailed. His tears slid down his cheeks and Maria leaned forward, pressed her forehead against his and used her free hand to smooth the salty tracks away. 

“Cole… Cole, sweetheart, look at me.” She insisted, waiting for Cole’s eyes to flick back to hers. When he finally met her gaze again she held it, steady. “They’re not gonna kill me, okay?” 

“You took his magic. You took his witches.” Cole’s horrified whisper carried past them. She could feel it in the way the knot of people surrounding them tightened. “The Elder One is coming to take them back.” 

Maria ripped her gaze from Cole and looked up to Dorian. He suddenly looked more grave than she had yet seen him. “Ah, knew we hadn’t heard the end of that.” 

Maria squeezed Cole’s shoulder and pulled away, standing straight. For some damn reason, everyone stared at her with varying degrees of both alarm and determination. Maria closed her eyes and took a breath, filled her lungs with cold, clear air. 

It  _ couldn’t _ happen. It  _ wouldn’t _ happen. She clenched her hands into tight fists and tried to sort through her own chaotic thoughts. “Have they sent word? What do they want from us?” 

“Nothing. We have heard nothing.” Josephine’s voice shook just like Cullen’s, pitched on the edge of hysteria. “It is… this is a violation of the Alamarri Accord, this is primarily a civilian settlement. To attack like this…” 

“Whatever the order does next, they do not expect to be held accountable or face the consequences.” Leliana broke in, words razor sharp. “Clearly, we have gone beyond playing by the rules.” 

“We don’t have enough soldiers to fight the order. Even with the witches…” Cullen muttered. “If we could control the field, if we could…” 

The Elder One came with demons. Came with monsters that would rip a man to shreds. They had  _ children _ in Haven, more innocent people than Maria could count. Her  _ sister _ , Bull and Cole, the team that helped her close the breach...

_ Varric _ . Her heart thudded in her chest and she swallowed in a breath desperately before opening her eyes. She whipped her face to Bull, tipping her head up to stare at him. Bull would know, Bull would have an idea, he had to. He fought in Seheron, struck down witches and guerilla fighters for the Qun. She listened to some of his battle stories, knew what he’d seen. Whatever happened, he’d be prepared for it. She could count on him to keep calm, count on him to be solid in a way almost nobody else was. 

“What would you do?” Maria demanded. With a hostile enemy on their doorstep, a city of refugees at their back, and a monster baying for blood, what could they possibly do? 

“If we can’t run, if we can’t dig in…” Bull scratched at his chin and swung his considering gaze down to her. “If they haven’t made demands… there’s really only one thing to do, Boss.” 

“Accept the inevitable with great wailing and gnashing of teeth?” Dorian suggested snidely. Bull smirked, but he didn’t look away from her. His gaze, both measuring and thoughtful, made her feel like a kid again. Maria felt the answer rising like a bubble through the fear, through the dread. 

“Hit ‘em first.” She answered by rote. Wasn’t that what Bull always taught her? If you were cornered, if you were out of options, if nothing else worked…

Hit them first and hit them hard. Maybe, just maybe, it would save your life. At the very least, you’d make them work for it.

“Our fate is in the hands of the Maker.” Leliana whispered. “If we must perish…” 

They would perish at the hands of monsters. Of red lyrium behemoths and demons with talons and teeth. Maria’s fear reflected on Dorian’s face, the only other person in the world who could know what the Elder One brought. Whatever  _ he _ was, whoever he was, they couldn’t hope to… 

“Right!” Sera dropped from the nearby roof, scattering Maria’s thoughts to the wind and holding a sack nearly as large as her over one shoulder. “Satinalia’s come early, yeah?” 

“My Satlinalia typically involves more booze. Less chance of imminent murder.” Bea’s snarky response only made Sera grin lewdly and wink in her general direction. 

“No breeches too, right?” Sera asked wickedly, carelessly swinging the bag off her shoulder and pulling the drawstring with a flourish. Maria couldn’t see much beyond colorless bricks of something wrapped in clear plastic. 

“What in the Maker’s name…” Cassandra started as Sera hefted one of the blocks from the bag, her pointed features alight with manic joy. 

“Good stuff! Found it in the basement. Was gonna take it back to Orlais to play, but jackboot says he needs all the help he can get so…” She waved one of the blocks in a circle over her head as if to illustrate a point. One Maria felt she was clearly missing. 

“Sera.” Maria interrupted the show. “What is it?” 

Sera broke into giggles. “The kinda stuff that goes boom, right? They were usin’ it to dig for musty old relics up in the mountains. I was gonna take just a bit at a time and blow up toilets. Gross, right?” 

“Sweet Andraste, is that polymer explosive?” Cullen asked, flinching away as Sera rounded unsteadily on him, holding it out with a sickly sweet grin. 

“Give that to me! Before you get us all killed!” Cullen demanded, tugging the sack from her immediately and looking down into it with a scowl. “There’s enough explosive in here to bring…” 

Cullen trailed off, slack jawed, then lifted his head back up. He didn’t look at Maria but over the top of her head, over all their heads, to the mountains rising above them. “Maker’s breath, it could work.” 

“Cullen!” Cassandra snapped impatiently. Cullen dropped his gaze back to the sack in his hand with grim determination. 

“The bulk of the force is still over the east mountain.” Cullen murmured. “A strategic blast would cause an avalanche that would… but how to get this up there…” 

Cullen was right. It  _ could _ work. It was just the heavy, hard hit to stun an opponent, the kind Bull taught her to look for. She swung her eyes back up to Bull and he grinned down, something warm sparking to life in one eye. 

But how to…

“Well, seeing as how it’s a good cause…” Varric broke in, drawing her eyes to him. His smile was bright, sunny, only small lines at his brow betraying any worry at all. His eyes glimmered dark in the streetlights above them, the same way they’d shone just before he crashed his lips into hers. A mix of desperate, passionate intensity hidden by playfulness. 

“I’ve been trying to convince Harding to let me fly the drone.” Varric continued conspiratorially, eyes on hers, and she could feel the warmth of his voice settle in her stomach like a fortifying sip of whiskey. She hoped the shiver it sent through her went unnoticed, but she swore she saw Bea’s eyes narrow again. “I bet it’s more than capable of dropping some explosives on a mountain.” 

xx

Harding twisted the remote in her hands with a rather tense frown, holding Varric’s gaze. He, for his part, tried gamely to tamp down his excitement from being obvious. “If you break it, I  _ am _ going to get reimbursed, right?” She asked suspiciously. 

“Would I damage my favorite reporter’s most vital piece of equipment?” Varric responded, reaching for the remote, perhaps a bit too eagerly. Harding immediately drew back, frown deepening. Varric didn’t hold back his sigh, shooting a wounded, dismayed look at her. “Harding, I’m good for it. Swear.” 

“Rich bastard.” Bea muttered under her breath. Varric ignored her grumbling, focusing instead on the remote as Harding finally handed it over with a great deal of trepidation. He had the navigation controls pulled up on his tablet and Bianca in his ear, ready to go. Now he just had to cause a massive landslide. Really, he thought with no small amount of self-deprecation, the avalanche of trouble he’d been causing all his life was just practice for this moment. 

He chanced a glance up from the display, watching the flurry of activity unfold before him. The barricades at the main roads into town were being reinforced as much as they could be with plywood, traffic barriers, hell, he thought he saw a kitchen table somewhere. Anything that wasn’t nailed down was free game. 

He also thought he heard the first faint pops of gunfire in the distance. A cold shiver ran down his spine and he ground his teeth together. They were running out of time. “Sera, you’ve got that hooked up yet?” 

“Don’t see you doin’ anything except twiddling your joystick.” Sera grumbled. Bea huffed out a small breath of laughter that brought gleaming, wicked light to the elf’s face. That, Varric thought, was not a partnership anyone needed to be encouraging. Somebody, frankly, needed to step in and stop it before it careened off the rails like a runaway train and took out an entire town.

But Bea’s own smile curled up at the edge like smoke and Varric looked away, thinking not of  _ her _ smile, but one achingly similar if always a bit more heavy. 

Maria was easy to locate, her loose red hair a beacon in the glow of the lights. Loose, because  _ he’d _ pulled it out of that neat little bun at the nape of her neck, dropped the tie on the floor and carried her curvy, warm body up to her bed to ravish. He could still feel the smooth slide of her skin against his, her breath warm against his neck, her fingers tugging his hair while  _ his _ name slipped from those sinfully plump lips. 

It hadn’t been anything except a taste, a tease, and dammit, it hadn’t been  _ nearly _ enough of one before they all landed back in the fire. Before  _ she _ ended up back on the front line, her hair a flag for anyone to see because he was a  _ damn _ idiot. 

He should have thought to pick her hair tie up off the ground too when he found his. Or at the very least ripped Cole’s hat off his head before sending him to the chantry so they could shove it over hers. 

“Little B! Over here!” 

Bull’s voice boomed across the square. Bea frowned, but didn’t look over her shoulder. He could see the thoughts flit across her face  _ clearly _ . Bea’s entire posture spoke of rebellion and mutiny, her fierce, burning desire to stay planted right where she was. 

“Do you really want to get slung over Bull’s shoulder in front of everyone and hauled up to the chantry?” Varric asked with a lifted eyebrow. Not that he couldn’t use the laugh, but he was relatively certain they all had better things to do. 

“Where they shoved all the kids?” Bea snapped. “No thanks.” 

Not just the kids. Anyone that wasn’t a trained soldier, witch with some skill in combat, or one of Maria’s more...eccentric fighters. Which, Varric supposed, was where he fit into play. As wicked and dangerous as Bea was, she didn’t belong on the front lines. 

“Here.” He pulled the spare pistol he’d been gifted by the Seeker from his waist. “You know how to shoot?” 

Bea’s face blanched, a split second of fear before she could quite wipe it away. Varric couldn’t help but be intrigued that one Cadash sister hardly seemed at home without a gun in her hand, the other looked at a weapon like it may bite her. Something to file away for later, he supposed. If there was a later. “This was Ria and dad’s game. Not mine.” 

“Yeah, well. There’s no safety on this, so you pull the trigger you’re shooting someone. Try not to aim it at anyone you may want to have a conversation with later.” Varric checked the clip before he handed it to her, steady into her gray eyes. 

“Right.” Bea said weakly, hand curling around the black grip. The second it did she shivered uncertainly, more skittish than he’d ever seen her. Like a cat with her tail stuck in a mousetrap, he thought. 

“Little B, move your ass or I’m moving it for you!” Bull called again. Bea flicked her eyes back up to his, still unconvinced. 

“Listen, Mittens. If this goes to shit, you and Cole are the last line of defense for those people.” Refugees, townsfolk, witch children, all of them stuffed into the Chantry’s basement. All of them, helpless. Bea may not be a trained soldier, or even half the marksman her sister was, but he’d bet she’d take down a couple templars if she got pissed. Easily. 

“If this goes to shit, my sister is out here.” Bea’s voice hitched and Varric softened. If only, he thought grimly, he had a sibling that loved him like that. What had happened between him and Bartrand that they grew up so opposed? 

What was wrong with him that Bartrand stabbed him in the back without a second thought? 

“We’ve got her back.” Varric promised, pulling his thoughts away from the dark, depressing direction they’d turned. Bea didn’t look quite like she believed him, gray eyes dark with fear. 

“Beatrix!” Maria’s shout carried back towards them. “I swear on every  _ last  _ moldy ancestor we have if you don’t get out of here I’ll…” 

“I’m fucking going!” Bea slammed the pistol into her coat pocket and tore her gaze from Varric to glare stiffly towards Maria. Their Herald stood framed in the gates of Haven, gunfire growing louder, closer. Wind whipped her hair across her face and Varric’s heart thudded unevenly. Beneath the crimson strands, he swore her eyes were on fire. 

“If something happens to her, I’ll shoot you right in your damn cock Tethras. I swear.” Bea hissed, lurching away gracelessly. 

“Wait!” Sera wiggled her eyebrows pointedly and threw her arms out, droid with dangling bits of explosive in one hand, rifle in the other. “Just up and gone, yeah? Nothin’ for luck?” 

“You don’t want any of my luck.” Bea’s word blew back bitter as she hunched her shoulders and stomped away towards Bull. Sera frowned at her retreating back, but before Varric could decide whether or not it would be faster to comfort the elf or to just take the damn explosives and finish the job himself, Bea looked over her shoulder. 

“I’ll offer a lap dance if you don’t get yourself killed. Best I can do.” She called back, loud enough that from somewhere on the front lines, he heard Cassandra's throaty sound of disgust. Varric choked on his own shocked laugh.

"Hear that?" Sera rounded on one combat-booted heel and thrust the explosives right at his chest. "Me and short an’ sweet are gonna be all tangled up with her bits in…” 

“Thank you for the image, Buttercup.” Varric cut off, immediately. He  _ didn’t _ need to hear about where Bea’s interesting bits were going to end up. It felt, first off, a bit incestuous. Second, all it did was remind him of where  _ his  _ bits should have been. His original plans for this evening had been much, much better than fighting for their lives against the entire damn templar order who may or may not be jacked up on red lyrium. 

He watched Sera race after Bea, her long arm catching her just enough to cop a quick feel and plant a sloppy kiss on her cheek. Varric felt an unwelcome pang of loss looking at the easiness of the gesture. Varric looked back for Maria framed in the gates and saw she too was watching the breezy affection. It was too dark to read her expression clearly despite how  _ desperately _ Varric wanted to. She seemed frozen, watching as Bull took Bea’s shoulder and worked to untangle her from the elf. Paralyzed by the scene. 

“Maria!” Her name flew from his lips without any thought, but it felt right. It felt like the only damn thing that made sense in the world. She twisted to him, and Varric suddenly realized he hadn’t exactly planned  _ what _ he was going to say next. 

For once, perhaps at the most important moment, Varric Tethras was at a loss for words. Everything that flew through his head sounded cheap, trite, or shallow. He couldn’t twist the words into something that encompassed  _ her _ or them. 

If there was a them. 

“We’ll keep them off of you!” She shouted back in the echoing chasm between them, too wide for him to bridge. Too large to cross in the short span of time they had. Varric watched her turn away, just as he heard someone scream. Close, too close. 

_ Stay safe because I’m not ready to lose you yet.  _ The words stuck in his throat, but it didn’t matter. She was already leaping into the fray, abandoning him behind the front lines. 

“Thedas to Tethras.” Harding interrupted impatiently, shouldering her camera in one hand and piercing him with a withering glare. “You gonna stare after her longingly or we gonna try to save all our dwarven asses?” 

Void take him for a coward when it mattered most. “I’m offended by the insinuation that I can’t multitask.” He held up the drone, the mass of explosives dangling from its release mechanism. “Let’s get this in the air.” 

xx 

Maria nearly lost her nerve. She could hear something in the darkness, a sound like something scratching at thin walls trying to get out. It reminded her of the tunnels beneath Redcliffe, but then she’d thought it was rats or spiders in the dark, thought that was the worst thing to be frightened of.

She knew better now. She knew what waited in the darkness. She suspected, now, the noise she heard wasn’t anything you could fight with fists or guns. It was, instead, the beginning of a terrible, twisted song. One that brought terror and madness in its wake.

She watched Bull lead her sister away and fought the urge to scream after them, to beg him to take her too. They could run, they could run from the monsters and they could keep  _ running _ until nobody could catch them. They could run until Haven, until Dwyka, until her own bloodstained past was nothing but a dim, horrible memory. It didn’t matter what happened to these people trapped here, they weren’t  _ her _ people. Her people were walking away, trapped in this town, and it was  _ her _ fault and...

Varric called her name. Everything stopped. Everything sharpened. Varric stood, silhouetted on the stairs against the town, droid and explosives in hand. The air crackled between them, the way it had when he pulled back after kissing her. The way it  _ always _ did. 

Varric Tethras would never think to flee. Varric Tethras sacrificed himself for her with a smile on his face once. The chaos pressed against them and Varric stood calmly at the center of it. Her mouth went dry and she swallowed her own self-loathing. 

She didn’t deserve him. She could never deserve him, never be the kind of person who should crash into him recklessly, joyously, but she could be brave. She could do that, at least, for him. She owed it to him. 

“We’ll keep them off of you!” She cried back, choking on all the fears, pushing away the scratching sounds in the darkness. Other things struggled to push their way to her lips, apologies and explanations. A whispered plea that she was only a broken, battered thing but that she wanted… 

She tore herself away before she could say anything else. It didn’t matter what she wanted, after all. Not when the world was ending, not when this was her chance to be the kind of woman her family would be proud of. 

The first massive, military grade vehicle spun up the road, tires squealing. Maria didn’t know much about cars, except how to hotwire them, she never even learned to drive. A detached part of her wondered  _ why _ humans had to always oversize everything. The tires were damn near as tall as she was as they spun up the road, heedless of the barriers in their way or the people manning them. 

Maria held her pistol up carefully, fingers wrapping around the trigger. The vehicle sped up and Maria thought she heard people yelling, gunshots piercing the darkness around them. It all fell away, not as loud as her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She held the gun gently and took a deep breath, held it. 

Her mind flashed back, reminded her that a long time ago, a young Maria played the piano in a crowded, cozy apartment in Hercinia. She always held her breath before striking the first note too. 

Her gunshot cut through the silence and the vehicle lurched to the side, spinning out of control. Behind her, she heard the drone lift into the air, blades slicing through the air with a ghostly whir, but her eyes couldn’t look away from the vehicle as it crashed into a snowbank, figures spilling out of it. Hulking humans, dressed in gray fatigues, spikes of red lyrium ripping through their clothes, growing from skin and bone, eyes as crimson as blood. 

Something was scratching at the walls. She could hear it. She knew it was there.

It knew where she was too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND YOU THOUGHT WE WERE DONE BEING ANGSTY. 
> 
> *cackles*  
*cries*


	31. The Age of Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team works to save the people of Haven in the face of overwhelming odds. They almost succeed.

When the gunshots started, Varric didn’t look up because he couldn’t risk the distraction. His hands needed to remain steady in spite of the cries from outside the gates. Thankfully, Harding’s white knuckle grip on his tablet didn’t falter either as she tersely reported on what their camera saw as it flew above the snaking road leading into Haven. 

“A dozen more trucks coming up towards us.” She reported grimly into her cell phone. “Advance force, I think. Trucks are armored, but I’m not seeing any external weapons.” 

“Keep the drone out of their sight.” Cassandra ordered tersely through the speakerphone. Varric fought the urge to roll his eyes, speeding the device through the air higher, pushing as fast as it could go. He hadn’t even realized he crested the next mountain until he watched Harding angle the camera down on the tablet, getting a good view of what sprawled out below their flight path. 

Varric barely bit back a curse while his stomach dropped. He saw hundreds of people marching forward, carrying flashlights and flood lamps, identifiable against the snow only by the glowing spikes of red lyrium piercing their skin. Harding lost her voice beside him, but he heard her gulp audibly. He chanced a glance up from the tablet to meet her eyes and noted she looked pale, but maintained her calm exterior like a veteran combat reporter. She brought her phone up to her lips and hit the button without tearing her eyes from the screen. 

“How many templars are there in the order?” She asked into the silence. 

Curly answered, voice taut. “There are three brigades. With the exception of the battalions stationed in the Free Marches, many of those north of the Waking Sea remained in their posts.”

Cullen said it like he answered the question. Harding swore and hit the mute button on the phone before addressing her question to Varric. “Any idea how many people are in a brigade?” 

“Fuck if I know.” The mass below the drone seemed endless, a sea of trained soldiers bent on destroying Haven with no peace talks, no chance to fight back. “It’s like a riddle. How many humans does it take to fuck it all up for the rest of us?” 

“Just one.” The Iron Bull’s low growl at their backs caused Harding to squeak, although to her credit she didn’t drop the tablet. Varric appreciated her nerves of steel more and more. Bull continued speaking, unperturbed by her reaction. “About three thousand troops in a brigade. Three-hundred and fifty in a battalion. How many people are out there, Harding?” 

Harding hit the mute button again, the silence heavy while she tried to calculate. Varric knew the number he came up with sat heavy in his mouth. 

“At least three hundred in the mountain pass.” She unmuted herself to inform the group on the phone. “Maybe five hundred. Hard to tell in the dark.” 

Varric thought four hundred, but shit, who knew. More soldiers than they had by far, enough to threaten Denerim itself if they turned back into Ferelden. 

“Maker preserve us.” Cullen’s prayer came across the line as a whisper. Varric repeated it in his own head, uncertain if the Maker deigned to listen to dwarves, but at times like these really what was the worst that could happen for trying. 

“Overcompensating.” Bull grunted, stalking past. “Makes me wonder what they’re afraid of.” 

The observation threw Varric for such a loop that he finally looked up, shocked into snark. “What is this to you, Tiny, warm-up?” 

Bull’s grin was more a vicious baring of teeth. Varric realized that the Qunari ditched his shirt, again, and wore nothing from the waist up except the assault rifle slung across his chest. Maybe they didn’t have a bulletproof vest in Bull’s size. 

Did they  _ make _ bulletproof vests in Bull’s size? The author in him  _ needed _ to know the answer, but he shoved it back down. Research for a later date, he thought, if they survived tonight. 

“Hell of a lot of men for a bunch of witches, especially since most of ‘em are barely old enough to shave.” Bull muttered darkly. “So what kind of magic do they think Boss has? And why are they so afraid of it?” 

Maria had magic that let her walk out of the vortex, then slam it shut. She had magic that closed cracks in reality and banished demons. She had magic that drew people to her in droves, like moths to a light. 

Varric didn’t know which kind the templars found more dangerous. 

Varric glared back down at the image flickering, static lancing it. He pulled the drone up farther, away from the interference of the red-lyrium infected templars. Bull turned his attention to Harding. “Where’s she at?” 

He didn’t need to specify. Harding unmuted her phone again with a single push of the button. “Seeker - you still got eyes on the Herald?” 

A second of silence, then the sound of gunshots as Cassandra answered her phone tersely. “Southwest of the entrance, third barrier. Has the package been delivered?” 

“Working on it.” Varric muttered. His sentence, unfortunately, was punctuated by a rather large explosion that caused him to look up again, startled. 

“Might want to work a bit faster.” Bull advised, streaking off with a surprising amount of speed. “And dial me into that line, Harding!” 

xx

Maybe it was for the best that the darkness hid the carnage. Maria didn’t want to know if she recognized the slumped figure beside her, the one whose entire uniform was dark with fresh, shining blood. She could still smell the iron of it over the overpowering scent of gasoline and gunpowder. Whoever the girl had been before she took a bullet to the neck, she was gone now, and for what? 

The thoughts spun in circles like water down the drain, but she didn’t stop moving. Her fingers didn’t shake while she loaded the pistol in her hand again, the empty magazine falling to the ground abandoned while she slipped a new one in. 

Beside her, Solas murmured something under his breath, eyes closed. When he opened them, they glowed bright green in the night. She felt the prickle of magic in her skin, on her tongue. Solas rested his hand on the ground near them and Maria swore she felt it lurch in a way that threatened to make her stomach send the shitty beer she drank earlier in the evening back up her throat. 

Still, she moved. She popped up from the barrier and aimed at the monsters surging towards her left. One fell, a neat shot to the head sending it sprawling, his red lyrium arm crumbling to shards when he hit the ground. Another shot sent a woman with spikes coming from her cheekbones staggering. 

The ground beneath the rest of them erupted in thorny vines that moved like whips, flaying through the camouflage uniforms, shattering red lyrium. Solas muttered still, and it sounded like Elvish, but nothing like the Elvish she’d heard in the slums. This sounded ancient, powerful,  _ breathtaking _ . It sounded like what curses and hexes  _ should _ sound like if this was a story from Varric’s books. 

One of the templars caught sight of her over the barricade and leveled an assault rifle in their direction. Maria ducked back down and listened to the wicked crack of gunfire piercing the night. Solas clenched his fist and a bright, shimmering bubble burst to life above their heads, rattling as the bullets struck it. 

“THERE!” Someone bellowed. “THE FALSE HERALD!” 

“Should someone tell them I’ve  _ tried _ to stop that?” Maria asked weakly. Solas didn’t quip back, he simply threw his arm out around the edge of the barrier. Maria didn’t quite see what the magic he cast accomplished, but she heard the pained scream of a man. 

Then  _ something _ hit the barrier above her head and it popped, just like the bubble it resembled. The force resonated like a high pitched whine, one she felt in her teeth. Solas gasped, but before Maria could examine what happened, an opposing force blew past her like a gust of wind, washing away the ringing in her ears. “Careful, darling!” Vivienne shouted from somewhere behind them.

“What the sodding hell was that?” Maria asked, laser focused on the way Solas brought his fingers to his temple. 

“A smite.” Solas spat venomously. “Madame Vivienne skillfully deflected the worst of it.” 

“Are you alright?” Maria asked, distracted at a fatal moment. The templar jumping the barrier surprised her, although she scrambled to raise her pistol as quickly as she could, the muzzle of an assault rifle swinging towards her…

A loud crack. She flinched in spite of herself, but it was the templar that pitched forward and another hulking figure that crouched down behind the barrier, a much harder feat for him than for her.

“Boss, where’s your phone?” Bull asked calmly, relieving the templar of his rifle and slinging it over his shoulder. The one he carried had a suspicious bloodstain on the butt of it, she suspected it came from the templar knocked unconscious at her feet. 

“Charging.” Maria answered, shocked by the normalcy of the question. “Ran out of battery. Didn’t think to grab it on my way out the door. Good news, Varric told me once it’s done charging it’ll show up. Bad news, Varric is sometimes full of shit, so I can’t be sure it will.” 

Bull huffed in disbelief and pulled his own from his pants pocket. She could see he was on an open call. “I’m with Boss. Southwest barriers are holding, but barely. What’s the situation?” 

“Templars breached the southeast.” Cullen’s terse voice answered. “Driven off, thank the Maker, but it was close.” 

“It looks like they’re reorganizing.” Leliana began speaking over Cullen, calm but talking quickly. “Directing their forces towards the southwest. I recommend redirecting our efforts…” 

“They saw me.” Maria met Bull’s eye helplessly. “Bull, what if they don’t  _ want _ anyone else, what if…” 

“Doesn’t change anything.” Bull hit the mute button on his phone quickly. “How much ammunition do you have left?” 

Maria spotted Bull’s lie, but she didn’t call him on it. He’d been a soldier, after all, he could do the damn math. If all the red templars wanted was one unlucky dwarf, and her surrender would save the people cowering in the chantry… 

“Not much.” She admitted, tongue thick with fear. She didn’t want to die here, wanted to be  _ captured _ even less. Bull swung his rifle around with a brisk nod. 

“Make it count then.” He advised grimly. “Horns up, boss.”

She choked on a laugh tinged with hysteria. “Horns up.” She repeated, wrapping her fingers tight around the pistol. 

xx

The harried, frightened voices coming from Harding’s phone took a turn for the desperate. They were joined by a mishmash of shouted instructions punctuated with gunfire and screams, echoing from all directions, the scent of smoke and blood hanging in the air. 

Just like the final showdown at the Gallows, down to the rising certainty Varric felt that, yes, this was probably where they were all going to die. He’d give his right nut for Hawke’s magic, Fenris’s stockpile of guns, hell, even Merrill’s demons. Anything to even the fucking odds. 

“We’re overwhelmed!” Vivienne called out across the line. 

“More coming up the road!” Cullen replied. 

“Varric!” Cassandra’s voice cut through all the babble, the panic. “The package  _ must _ be delivered  _ now _ !” 

“Almost, Seeker!” Varric called out into Harding’s phone. It had to be perfect, too close to Haven, they’d get caught in the avalanche. Too far away, they’d miss the bulk of the templars entirely. “Bianca, how far?” 

“ETA for ideal placement is roughly five minutes. Advise beginning descent as soon as possible.” The AI answered. “Security footage suggests Maria Cadash’s position is untenable, but the Iron Bull, Solas, and she have not retreated.” 

Varric didn’t look away from the navigation controls, but his heart stuttered in his chest. He forced his voice to stay calm. “I need five more minutes and Cadash needs to move her ass.” 

“If we pull back, we lose this entire line.” Bull grunted out immediately over the line, Varric imagined the Qunari punching a templar as efficiently as he’d once punched a terror demon. He heard the steady pop of gunfire, thought he heard Maria spitting out instructions in the background but he couldn’t be sure. 

“I need a guarantee, Tethras!” Cullen barked. “If you can’t deliver that avalanche in five minutes, we can’t fall back!” 

“If the soldiers don’t retreat now, casualties will mount. Beginning in the southwest quadrant.” Bianca advised again, more insistently if possible. “Surveillance footage indicates the Herald is in direct line of fire.” 

Varric didn’t know whether he wanted to shake her or kiss her. 

“Five minutes or I’ll shave my chest, I  _ swear _ .” He promised. Anything, anything to get them to fucking  _ move _ . On his tablet screen, the drone’s camera showed only snow-covered pine trees flying beneath them. For a second, the only answer on the line was silence. Varric could count his own panicked heartbeats. 

“Fall back.” 

Maria’s voice, full of grim determination, issued the order. It sent a wave of relief crashing through him and he released a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. As if everyone had been waiting for direction from their Herald, the forces at the gate threw it open. On top of the crumbling wall, soldiers aimed rifles down, prepared to cover the retreat. 

“Harding!” Varric thrust the controls back in her hand. “Keep her straight and when I give the word drop the package.” 

“Right.” Harding ducked below their own barrier with his tablet and the controls. She thrust his shotgun towards him like she read his damn mind. “Don’t get shot before giving the signal, Tethras.”

If he had his way, there wouldn’t be any dead dwarves tonight. 

The thought no sooner flitted through his head than the first soldiers stumbled back through the gates, dragging fallen comrades behind them, a mess of blood and horror, shouting in confusion. Varric vaulted over their barrier to stand in front of it, waiting as another group stumbled through.

No sign of crimson beyond the dark shine of blood on their uniforms. No small figure crouching among the humans. He spotted Cassandra climbing the walls, her gun pointed down, heard her voice shouting something incomprehensible. 

The third group didn’t come in alone. One of the soldiers, an elven woman, fell with a strangled scream, pitching forward while some sort of… monster stabbed an arm of red lyrium, sharp as a machete, through her abdomen. 

This was what the red lyrium turned the templars into. Mindless, bloodthirsty creatures willing to tear a damn kid to shreds for… for what? What was any of this shit even for? And the only person responsible for letting this poison out into the world stared back at him in the mirror everyday. 

Blackwall ripped the templar off the girl, threw it onto the ground before aiming his rifle coldy right at its head. Varric didn’t bother watching him pull the trigger. Cullen shouted orders, pulling in stragglers, witches carrying each other and throwing flames, sparks, and hexes of all sorts over their shoulders. Vivienne pushed more in, ordering them in terse, clipped tones. Varric watched a former templar sling a witch with a broken leg up over his shoulder. 

It was nearly enough to warm his heart. 

“The drone is approaching optimal deployment range. Two minutes.” Bianca chimed in his ear. Sera scrambled through the gates, shooting over her shoulder. Varric leveled his gun and blasted the creature staggering in after her. 

“GET DOWN!” Cassandra screeched. Something hit the solid walls of Haven, knocked some of the soldiers to the ground below. Varric didn’t tear his eyes from the gate, waiting. Waiting with nausea rising in his stomach, waiting with breath caught in his throat. 

“Where the fuck is Cadash!” Blackwall shouted over the fray. More templars tried to stream in, growling and gnashing, shooting guns and stabbing with limbs of red lyrium, madness gleaming in crimson eyes. 

Then Dorian appeared in the gates, shadows of darkness rolling around him like a living being, grabbing the templars, throwing them back to the ground, hard enough to shatter bones. Sparkler looked less like a witch every second and more like an old god back to wreak bloody vengeance. 

Finally, a small blur of red ducking under his arm, trying to load her gun and move at the same time. Bull slipped past on the other side, Solas up over his shoulder, the Elven witch too still. He booked past Dorian, but Maria stopped, pressing her back to the witch’s. An empty magazine fell at her feet. 

“Is there anyone else?” Cullen shouted hopelessly. 

“Not alive!” Bull stuffed Solas’s boneless form behind a house, pulled his assault rifle and began picking off the templars trying to slip past Dorian. “Close the damn gate!”

“Package ready for deployment.” Bianca insisted smoothly.

“HARDING GO!” Varric shouted, watching as Maria twisted around Dorian to direct a perfect shot into a templar’s heart. Varric’s shotgun took out another’s leg, sent him sprawling to the ground for Sera to pick off from above. 

“It won’t deploy!” Harding screamed back. “The limbs are stuck, I…” 

“CLOSE THE BLIGHTED GATES!” Cullen roared the order. Inquisition troops raced forward, tried to close the heavy iron gates while the templars continued to press. 

“Bianca, what’s the damn issue?” Varric asked, struggling to reload the shotgun. Cullen and Cassandra joined the soldiers at the gates while Dorian and Maria stood in the center of the square just inside, trying to push the templars back out. 

“The drone is not obeying commands to release the package.” Bianca answered calmly. Rather too calmly, in Varric’s opinion, since his death appeared imminent. “The failure appears mechanical and unrelated to software operation. I’m unable to correct it.” 

“Herald-tits!” Sera yelled, lobbing something across the square. Maria managed to catch it before it sailed past. Whatever it was made her swear violently. She lobbed a disbelieving stare back in Sera’s direction. 

“Tell ‘em to eat it!” Sera exclaimed. “Sooner is better!” 

Varric couldn’t agree more. This needed to end, and if they couldn’t drop the package…

Well, they could drop the whole damn drone out of the sky. 

“Harding, crash it!” He ordered. 

“What?!” She screamed back. 

“I’ll owe you one!” He retorted quickly. 

Harding swore, but Varric didn’t pay her any mind. In front of him, he watched Maria look at whatever was in her hand, her steely gaze directed back out the gate. Varric heard something roar and finally saw what had hit the gate the first time. 

It stood as tall as a house and took huge, thunderous footfalls. Varric thought it was a giant formed of nothing but red lyrium and rage, a behemoth to make them tremble. It bellowed as it stalked forward, more templars running beneath and around it. It approached regardless of the gunfire and spells slung at it, approached like a mountain of inevitable death. 

“Drone is losing altitude.” Bianca informed him. 

Varric worried it was too late. Cassandra and Cullen couldn’t get the gate closed, and even if they did, it couldn’t stand against that monster. But instead of aiming her gun, Maria dropped the pistol to the ground. She fiddled with the thing in her hand, threw something small and shiny behind her and waited a split second, eyes focused. 

He didn’t realize what she had until she threw it, her aim precise. It sailed over the templars storming the gate, arched gracefully in the air with an almost lazy spin as it flew through the narrowing opening, straight towards the giant. Maria pushed Dorian down to the ground behind her, both witch and dwarf falling to the old cobblestones. 

“GET DOWN!” Cullen ordered. 

As soon as he did, the grenade exploded just in front of the behemoth. The explosion threw a cloud of smoke into the air, sent the shattered, agonized screams of men into the air. Cassandra bolted back up from the stones immediately, Cullen beside her, Blackwall joining them. The gates thrust shut on the templars outside, slammed securely with deadbolts and locks. Sealed with magic just to be safe. 

“Impact eminent.” Bianca warned. Not even a second later, Varric  _ heard _ the explosion far away in the mountains. He dipped back behind the barricade, pulled the tablet impatiently from Harding’s shaking hands. The camera from the drone had gone dead, but he had security footage in another app, the cameras posted on the walls outside Haven. Half of them showed nothing but static, broken by magic or shot to pieces, but he zoomed in on one of them. 

It happened to be pointed right at the mountain and he saw, breathless with relief, the avalanche as it began to roll, gathering steam, heading straight to the approaching army. 

“We did it.” He felt dizzy with the success. “By my ancestor’s sweet tits, we did it.” 

xx

The frail, brittle cheer behind her sounded choked with exhaustion. Still, it was a cry of victory, of bittersweet relief and Maria choked on her own hysterical laugh. Her hands shook while she pushed off the gritty stones, looking to Dorian on her right. The witch pushed himself up on hands and knees and looked over to her. Amazingly he managed to look both unbearably weary  _ and  _ delighted. “Do you mean to tell me we’ve somehow survived the impossible  _ again _ ?” 

She was as astonished as he was, frankly. Instead, she parroted his words back to him with the barest hint of a smile, but it was all she could conjure up. “We’re too pretty and clever to die in the Ferelden muck, remember?” 

“And she jokes.” Dorian chuckled, standing stiffly and offering his arm to pull her from the ground. Around them, people murmured, both anxious and hopeful. Maria saw Vivienne crouching beside Solas, examining his wounded leg. Sera cackled madly, leaning on Blackwall. Cassandra and Cullen still pressed against the gate and Bull climbed the top of the wall to look over it. 

Maria retrieved her discarded pistol and rolled her own sore shoulder. She could feel blood sticky on her cheek and her knuckles, scraped raw and bloody, protested when she clenched her fist. Still, she was alive. A whole lot of other people fucking weren’t. 

As if Dorian read the thought in her face, he squeezed her hand before dropping it. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to. 

“Did you  _ seriously _ catch a grenade Buttercup lobbed at you?” 

Varric approached from behind Dorian, a grin tugging his lips upward, ambling along as if they weren’t in the aftermath of a pitched battle for their lives. Dorian’s own expression turned unbearably smug as he swept himself gracefully out of the way, spinning to stand beside her instead of between the two dwarves. Maria pushed back her hair impatiently, unable to quite meet Varric’s eyes. 

“I didn’t know it was a grenade, to be completely honest.” She admitted. “Not until I’d already caught it.” 

“Pin was still in, yeah?” Sera called back with a careless shrug. Maria let her eyes flick up to examine Varric’s face, caught in grim shadows, but still somehow cheerful. 

She fought back an unreasonable urge to grab him by his ridiculously unbuttoned shirt and kiss him. That, Maria reasoned, was exactly what happened in the terrible romance novels he tried to write. Real people didn’t do that kind of shit, though, particularly people like her. 

“You alright, Princess?” Varric’s gentle question caught her off guard. She finally met his eyes with her own. The residual terror bubbled up while she stared into his warm, whiskey colored depths, but she tapped it down, bit back the tears that threatened with nothing more than willpower. She needed to lock it all away, couldn’t deal with it now, couldn’t bear to unload all of the horror on Varric just because his eyes sparkled kindly in the darkness and she knew the way it felt to be pressed close to his chest, warm and  _ safe _ and  _ alive _ . 

She closed her eyes for a second to escape his scrutiny, but that was a mistake too. Flashes of the battle were engraved on her eyelids. She recalled Bull barely dodging the behemoth’s fist while they tried to retreat. She saw the bullet slicing through Solas’s thigh and him crumpling to the ground. She remembered a witch unable to breathe as a templar closed his fists around her slim neck. She could still feel the sheer terror when a man grabbed her arm and pulled with such force she thought he’d wrench it right out of its socket before she put a bullet in his right eye socket.

She nodded briskly and lifted her eyes to the star studded sky above them instead. “I will be.” She answered. 

“I’m also quite fine.” Dorian made a great show of examining his fingernails disdainfully. “I do appreciate you asking.” 

Varric simply sighed. “Sparkler, if your mustache was so much as slightly singed we’d have already heard about it.” 

She smiled in spite of herself, shaking her head to clear it and exhaling slowly. She allowed herself a moment to relax, to believe the worst was over. She let her eyes fall back to Varric’s, tried to summon an appropriate response to defend Dorian or even to ask if  _ Varric _ was alright.

She didn’t get the chance. 

The screech from above sounded like nails on a chalkboard, but with the volume of an airplane landing. All her hair stood on end and she shuddered instinctively, recoiling into herself. A brief second of silence before another shrieking roar echoed in the sudden silence. Maria didn’t know what it heralded, but she knew she’d heard it before. The sound transported her back to the thirteenth floor in Redcliffe instantly and her heart thudded unsteadily. 

“LOOK OUT!” 

She didn’t know who yelled, but the warning didn’t prepare her for the dark shape, larger than a fucking tractor trailer, soaring over them. It let out another screech and Dorian swore in that beautiful, musical language of his. 

The museum in Ostwick had an exhibit which featured a skull with a jaw large enough for Maria to stand straight up in, massive horns curling from each side, skeletal wings hanging from the museum ceiling. A video played repeatedly on one wall showing what scholars  _ thought _ the creature looked like. Maria loved visiting as a girl, remembered Nanna taking pictures of her and Bea in front of the creature’s bones. 

She had to admit, if  _ that _ skeleton belonged to what she was looking at in the streetlights and dark shadows over her, the scholars at Ostwick did a damn good job recreating it on video. The rest of her froze in shock, insisting that she  _ couldn’t  _ be looking at what she was seeing. It was impossible, it was…

The creature opened it’s massive jaw again, but instead of screeching, something bright sparked within it. Like a thousand blowtorches lighting up all at once, it spewed fire down below. Maria felt the heat immediately, watched one of the wooden houses catch ablaze. 

Then everyone began to scream at once. 

“Dragons are  _ extinct! _ ” She yelled, whirling to Dorian. He stared at the thing slack jawed as well, stunned into abrupt silence. It was Varric that moved, pulling both of them away from the spreading flames.

“Yeah, well, that one didn’t get the memo!” Varric insisted. The dragon roared again, the sound carrying across the town, more flames erupting from it’s jaw, igniting everything. 

“Get to the chantry!” Cullen ordered. “NOW! GO!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MODERN!DRAGON shenanigans!


	32. The Sound of Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haven is destroyed by the red templars while Maria Cadash holds the line to give the people time to escape.  
Varric recognizes an old enemy far too late to save their Herald.  
Hawke draws a new card.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this MASSIVE chapter. I debated splitting it up, but I couldn't think of a good place to do so. At least this way I'm not wallowing in the angst for weeks. 
> 
> ALSO: If you want a soundtrack recommendation, I listened to Disturbed's cover of "The Sound of Silence" on REPEAT while writing this.

When Maria was a little girl, Nanna told her that dwarves built Ostwick, that they built _ many _ surface cities ages before. Nanna of course didn’t care for them, those first deserters of the Deep Roads were nothing but thieves and murderers exiled from their home according to her. They were the same people who founded the illegal smuggling operations her eldest granddaughter would someday join, although Zarra never considered _ that _ possibility. The second wave of dwarves fleeing, of course, happened to be the houses that would make up the Dwarven Financiers Union. Those blood traitors (Nanna’s words, not hers, although the sentiment _ felt _accurate) planned their exit strategically and left their homeland in a lurch as the remaining once great houses scrambled to save their home. 

The great stone cities underground still stood, but nobody visited. Dwarven architecture lasted the test of time, after all. 

Maria’s people, her ancestors, were among the last dwarves to flee their dying cities at the turn of the industrial age. The last ones to see the only hope of survival was to abandon their pride, their blighted stone, and take their chances up on the surface where the dwarves with money and power shoved their brethren into dark, dank factories churning out poison only slightly less lethal than what killed the remaining dwarves beneath their feet. 

But, Nanna grudgingly admitted, there was nothing like good dwarven architecture and Ostwick had plenty of it thanks to those traitorous bastards. Ostwick was built to last the ages even as the buildings grew higher and people from every corner of the world poured into the city. 

Maria wished Haven had been built the same way. There was no dwarven stone to protect them here, nothing but wood cottages with cheerful painted clapboard going up in smoke and flame. Only one building in Haven was made of heavy brick, the quaint little chantry, and that’s where they all fled to instinctively like nugs escaping a flood, blind and desperate in the smoke. 

Screams for help pierced the night around them. The dragon made another pass overhead and they pressed themselves flush against one of houses, the roof above them erupting into flames. From inside, Maria heard weak, desperate sobs for help. She pressed her hand automatically to the doorknob and found it blazing hot. She swore and wrenched her burned fingers away, darting to the side of the house.

“Cadash!” Dorian hissed, unaware of the people trapped inside. The rear exit was blocked by some burning debris, a fallen electric pole maybe. But there was a window high above her, one she couldn’t quite reach even if she stretched as much as she could.

“What are you…” Varric followed her. Of course he followed her. She turned to him insistently, braced her hands on his shoulders and fought the urge to curl into his welcome warmth and give herself over to horrified sobs. 

“Lift me up.” She demanded instead. 

He arched a brow. “Is this really…” 

“Listen!” She slapped his shoulder, even though she shouldn’t have, and pointed up over her head. His face went blank for an uncomprehending second, then understanding dawned on him and he mumbled a curse under his breath. 

“How in the world did you hear that through all of this?” Dorian asked, aghast. She ignored him. Varric still wasn’t moving fast enough for the urgency of the situation. She dug her fingers into his shoulders hard enough to bruise and glared steadily into his eyes. “I know you can bleedin’ boost me up there!” 

If he could carry her the whole way up to her bedroom while kissing her within an inch of her life _ without _ dropping her he should be more than capable of tossing her through a window. He finally acquiesced and bent at the waist. He tossed his broad, sturdy arms around her thighs and hoisted her up like she weighed nothing. She twisted in his grip to reach for the high window, trying valiantly to ignore the way his hands squeezed just below her ass, his face pressed just below her breasts. 

“This isn’t how I planned on getting my hands on you again.” He joked weakly. 

She gripped the windowsill and tried to shove the pane glass open, but it didn’t budge. “Close your eyes and look down.” She ordered tersely. “Both of you.” 

To his credit, Varric shut his eyes immediately, like he’d aided and abetted in a hundred break-ins. It was Dorian who continued to stare up at her, and she thought part of that reason may have been the sudden keen interest in the man’s too shrewd eyes when he heard the word ‘again.’ “Dorian!” She snapped waspishly. 

When they both finally dropped their gaze, she thrust her elbow through the glass and it shattered easily despite the jarring throb to her sore shoulder. She tried to punch out as much glass as she could, peering through the smoke filling the home. She saw two figures huddled together and yelled. “Here! Over here!”

Thank fucking Andraste herself they moved at her voice. She hauled herself through the window, a tight fit, but manageable. Varric yelled her name as she vanished from view, but Maria simply rolled to the tile floor and shoved her arm over her mouth to try and keep from inhaling the acrid smoke. There was a kitchen chair nearby, a rickety old thing, but it would have to do. She pulled it over and the first figure, a skinny child with a human’s too long limbs, was thrust up onto it by the woman behind him. The kid paused, uncertain, peering down into the darkness outside. 

“Jump!” Maria yelled, coughing on the smoke. “They’ll catch you!” 

For a second, she still thought he wouldn’t, but his mother’s hushed, gentle words convinced him to clamber up through the sill. She watched him pause, breathless, before he tumbled into the abyss outside. 

“You next!” Maria ordered, shoving the woman forward. She clambered up and vanished through the opening in seconds. Maria jumped up on the chair herself, listened to the threatening crack of the flimsy wood and leapt for the windowsill. She caught it just in time, the chair falling to pieces beneath her as she struggled to lever more of her upper body through the opening. She heard the panicked caw of a bird, her name ringing in the alley, felt fingers wrap around her wrists and tugging her forward. Dorian released a blistering torrent of swearing she didn’t understand, then she could breathe again, the air crisp and clear in her lungs before gravity took over and she toppled out of the window. 

She collapsed on top of a sputtering Tevinter witch, his face embedded in her breasts while Nyx flapped above them in a panic. 

“C’mon, we’ve got to move.” Varric urged, pulling her up by the damn arm that’d been nearly wrenched from her shoulder. She winced in his iron grip and he loosened it immediately, running his thumb over her arm apologetically instead while his eyes caught Dorian’s on the ground. “Sparkler, you with us?” 

“All of me but my spleen, perhaps, which is almost certainly ruptured.” He complained acidically. 

“I’m not that heavy.” Maria muttered under her breath.

“Perhaps not for chiseled dwarven physiques.” Dorian grumbled under his breath. She ignored him as they pushed back out into the square. 

* * *

Bull guarded the outside of the chantry like a dragon himself, horns thrown in sharp relief by the flickering flames. He shoved soldiers and witches past him like he threw opponents in his boxing ring. She couldn’t decide if it felt like yesterday or a million years ago that she’d sat and watched him stalk the ring like an old god. Flames threw his craggy features into sharp relief and she didn’t know whether it was fear or relief that made her break out into a cold sweat. 

“You’re late boss.” He growled, one long arm reaching out to sweep her inside. They were among the last and Cullen stood in the center of the chantry, blood dripping from a gash over his chest, but shouting orders. Beside him, Leliana and Josie both looked grim.

“Herald!” Leliana shouted. Maria wished she wouldn’t have. The crowd parted around her, people staring and whispering. She imagined she could hear their venom, their recrimination. She’d brought this down upon them somehow. Perhaps it had been when she lost her temper at the Lord Seeker, perhaps when she’d snubbed them to go to Redcliffe. Her decisions led them here. Her actions. 

Her cowardice because if she was what they wanted, she could have just _ gone _ and maybe everyone else would have been safe. She hunched her shoulders forward defensively and ducked her head. 

Just in time to be nearly knocked off her feet by sturdy, warm arms wrapping around her. Bea’s lips pressed against her cheek. “Thank the soddin’ Maker.” Bea whispered, pulling back to sweep her eyes over Maria’s form. “Thank our fucking ancestors or whoever the fuck is out there. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” 

Outside, the dragon screeched and Bea flinched, but didn’t pull away. Maria reached to rip her hand off her jacket. “Bea, go back downstairs.” 

She meant it to sound like an order, but Bea had never been good at following instructions. She dug her nails into the leather more insistently, blanching in the dim beams of flashlights bouncing around the cavernous space. 

Maria didn’t have time to fight with her. Instead, she stalked away, Bea’s fist remaining resolutely embedded in her jacket. She was gratified to see Cole at her sister’s elbow, pale and quiet as a ghost. At least they were both still okay, at least…

At least they were together. And as they walked she saw the rest of the people she worked with peel off to join them. Vivienne and Cassandra. Blackwall, Solas leaning on him and limping. Sera with an angry burn on her arm. 

“The dragon stole back whatever time we’d bought ourselves.” Cullen snapped feverishly. “We’re cornered and I fear if we surrender…” 

“We have children.” Josephine protested shrilly, trying to press a cloth to Cullen’s chest to stem the bleeding. Her fingers shook, but she maintained her resolute demeanor. 

“Witch children.” Leliana murmured. “They will not stop to separate them from the others and they pledged to eradicate all the witches in Thedas.” 

“We’re going to die.” Cullen dropped his voice low, but not so low that Beatrix didn’t hear it. Her sister made a small, choked noise in her throat. “They’re beyond taking prisoners. We have nowhere to retreat. We’re sitting in our tomb.” 

As if to punctuate his statement, the whole building rattled. Cullen’s face twisted into bitter defeat. “We may as well take the rest of the explosives and detonate them here. It would be faster.” 

“No!” The word fell out of Bea’s mouth before Maria could say anything at all. “No, I don’t…” 

She knew what Bea’s mind flashed to. Knew what she saw as soon as Cullen hurled those words into the air. She felt herself transported back to their old apartment immediately, felt her hand on her father’s bedroom door, heard her voice echo in the silence as she called for him. She could smell the gunsmoke and iron of blood like she’d never walked away from that door. She could feel the earth trailing through her fingers while she stood above a fresh grave. 

“We can’t give up.” Bea was panicking and Bea _ couldn’t _ panic, because Bea always did the stupidest shit when she did, but Maria couldn’t quite find the words to soothe her. 

Cole did instead.

“But there’s a way.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Cullen spat furiously. “There isn’t…”

“The witch who put the hollow crown on the king’s head.” Cole murmured, curling in on himself, hand reaching blindly for Maria’s own. He grasped her fingers tightly and squeezed. “She laughs while she spins her spells. The first time she came here, she was so afraid, but she’s stronger, smarter, older. Can’t catch her if she can’t be caught. Never be in the tower again, never be chained again. Free, flying, fierce…” 

“Wait!” Leliana burst out, reaching gentle, trembling fingers to turn Cole’s chin to her eyes. “Do you feel her? My Warden?”

Leliana’s anguish was palpable, her eyes shining. “Chantal, was she…” 

“She smiles when you sing. Hums the songs you taught her as she works. The king ordered her to seal them up, make them safe, make them secret, make them gone. But crows leave nests to flee back to, she knows that. Can’t catch her. Can’t send her back. Can’t see through her spells unless they know where to look.” 

“Maker…” Leliana whispered, then shook her head as the building rattled again. Someone screamed. “Maker bless her.”

“What is it?” Jospehine asked. 

“The tunnels!” Leliana exclaimed. “When we first came here, we discovered the people in this village using forbidden magic in the tunnels beneath Haven. Ali sent Chantal here to destroy them after the war but…” 

“She didn’t.” Cole repeated. “She couldn’t.” 

“The tunnels are still there, then, hidden. Chantal…” Leliana’s eyes sparked triumphantly.

“I heard she was a master of illusions.” Vivienne drawled thoughtfully, approaching as if she hadn’t been listening to every word. “I confess, I would love to discover her tricks. Her glamors were legendary, yes?” 

“You have no idea.” Leliana muttered. “We would need the best witches to untangle her knots and we never explored all the tunnels. They must all end outside, eventually, but I cannot say they are free from traps or where they lead.” 

“Take Dorian and Vivienne, then.” Maria directed with a hiss, turning back to Bea and threading her fingers through her sister’s curls, pressing their foreheads together. “It’s going to be fine. We’re not giving up, okay? We’re going to get through this.” 

Bea nodded, eyes closed, fingers shaking while she cupped Maria’s hand with her own. Maria pressed a searing kiss to her sister’s nose. They couldn’t give up, Maria always _ swore _ to Bea they wouldn’t end up like dad, they wouldn’t…

“Bianca.” Varric ordered tersely. “I need every record you can dig up for tunnels under Haven. Maps are best, anything from the electric company denoting access points further down the mountain would be top priority, but I’ll take what we can get. Maybe help us avoid any nasty surprises down there.” 

Cullen launched into a plan immediately. “If we can find these tunnels, we need time to evacuate. The remaining forces are coming, if we allow them, they will follow us. The explosives are already _ here _, if we collapse this building down after we leave…” 

“Sera can rig a remote detonator.” Bea whispered. 

“Fuck yeah I can.” Sera muttered darkly. 

Of course she could. And of course Bea would hit it off with the most insane and dangerous woman within fifty square miles. And Maria, for some reason, couldn’t feel better about it. She managed a small, she hoped slightly reassuring, smile for Bea. “Can you help her?”

“Can you stay safe?” Bea countered, opening her eyes. “For once in your damn life can you do that?” 

“I’ll try.” Maria promised. 

Bea nodded, trying her best to be satisfied with that. Maria dropped her hand from her hair and pulled back with a kiss on her sister’s flushed cheek. She lightly pushed Bea away. “Go on then.” 

Bea staggered away, looking over her shoulder as she ducked through the crowd, following Sera pushing through. Maria couldn’t watch her stumble away, couldn’t reconcile the elegant way she usually moved with the fear that made her sister wooden and jerky instead. Bea shouldn’t even be here. Wouldn’t be here, except Maria dragged everyone down with her. Just like she always had. 

The building shook. A small trickle of dust fell from the ceiling, stuck to the sweat and grime on her forehead. She wiped the grit off and stared up at the hard line of Cullen’s jaw.

“If this building collapses before we can evacuate…” 

“He knows you’re here.” Cole’s voice cut insistently through the panicked melee of voices. “He doesn’t care about the people. Doesn’t care about the town. The Elder One wants…” 

“Me.” Maria interrupted. 

“You.” Cole confirmed softly. “The herald.” 

She wanted to scream that she wasn’t anyone’s damn herald, that she’d never claimed to be, that she’d tried to stop it. She wasn’t sent by Andraste, she wasn’t chosen or special. She was…

She was going back into the fire, back into the darkness, back into the night because if she didn’t, the dragon would bring the whole thing crashing down on their ears and everyone she cared about would die in the rubble and flames. 

“Stick with Bea, Cole.” She directed grimly. “Cullen, I want your pistol and all the ammunition you have left.” 

“No!” Cole protested. “If he gets you…” 

“He won’t.” She had to believe that. If she stopped believing that, she’d never find the courage to leave. “When my sister and Sera get that detonator sorted, get it to me. I’ll stay outside as long as I can, draw them away from here. Then I’ll run back here and press the damn button as soon as I’m in the tunnels.” 

It was the only path. The only way forward. And it was a damn long shot, she could see it in Cullen’s face as he calculated her odds. She could feel it in the suddenly heavy silence around her while the core of their team tried to consider if there was _ any _ other way. 

“We will find these tunnels.” Vivienne declared cooly. “And we will await you on the other side, darling.” 

Maria wished she had Vivienne’s confidence as the woman lifted her chin in elegant determination and strode toward the doors leading deep into the chantry, the steps that would take her into the basement. From behind her, she heard the rustle of fabric, felt warm fingers trail lightly across her shoulder as Dorian pressed past. He didn’t look down, she didn’t look up. Maria wondered if he was just as afraid of it feeling like a goodbye as she was. 

“Varric.” Cassandra snapped impatiently. “You are the one with the maps, you need to go with them.” 

_ Varric _. Something thumped unevenly inside her, a thin glass wall shattering, reminding her that no matter how much she tried to ignore his presence, she no more could banish it than she could rid herself of the fear threading her veins. Everyone was speaking, debating where they should go, what they should do, making plans to get the refugees out with as much of the supplies stashed below that they could, and Varric… 

Varric was arguing with the Seeker that he needed to stay with _ her. _She couldn’t keep track of the words over her spiking heartbeat while she focused on the gun Cullen pressed into her hand, his leftover ammunition. 

“Maker be with you, Herald.” Cullen folded her fingers around it and she tried not to laugh hysterically. One small pistol, one small dwarf, against a dragon and whatever remained of an army of monsters. 

“The Seeker’s right, Varric.” She didn’t even need to listen to Cassandra to know the Seeker was right. “You and your damn glasses can help spot traps too. And your fucking robot can find a path out.” 

She watched him throw himself to the monsters once trying to save her. She couldn’t watch it again. She wouldn’t. He had asked her to forget it, but sweet ancestors she couldn’t. All she could do was stop it from happening again. 

“Princess I -” 

Maria whirled on Varric, gun in her hand, furious, frightened, and desperate. “Do you have a better plan?” 

She knew he didn’t. _ He _ knew he didn’t. There wasn’t a better plan and he looked just as terrified as she felt, just as resigned. This, _ this _ was the only plan, and it was a shitty one, and they were all probably going to die, _ especially _ her, and….

Fucking sod it all, then. 

She darted forward into the space around him, the space the still smelled slightly of his cologne underneath the lingering scent of smoke. She crashed her lips against his in a kiss that bruised, brought her free hand up to tug him closer by a steely grip in his hair. He froze in stunned disbelief, just like she had the _ first _ time she’d decided to say fuck it all and kiss the blasted man, before one arm wrapped snugly around her waist and pulled her tight. He tasted like iron, like gunpowder and fire and he held onto her like...

Like he couldn’t bear to let her go. 

Before she could convince herself to believe that, she pulled herself away. Cullen coughed awkwardly in the background. High above Varric’s shoulder, Bull had the good grace to pretend to be very interested in the ceiling crumbling above them. 

Although, really, that was the more pressing problem than the ache in her chest as she smoothed Varric’s sweat-slicked hair back. His eyes were closed, his breathing heavy, and sweet Andraste if she was going to die at least she had this, even if she only had it for a second, even if it meant nothing. 

It had been enough. 

She apologized, silently, to Fynn’s ghost while she whispered one more time to Varric.

“Go.” She ordered, wrenching herself out of his loose grip. “Now.” 

She stalked away without looking back, she couldn’t trust that she wouldn’t lose her nerve if she saw him staring after her. 

She wasn’t surprised the Bull shadowed her. She dropped her eyes to her gun, checking the magazine. “You could stay, you know. This isn’t going to be easy.” 

Or safe. Or sane. 

“And let you have all the fun?” Bull asked with a rueful laugh. “You always knew how to find the best trouble, boss.” 

“Well.” Maria looked up from her pistol with a watery smile, one hand braced against the chantry door. “You always said you wanted to fight a dragon.” 

* * *

She expected the dragon to incinerate her on sight as it passed, low enough she could see the gleaming scales of it’s belly flickering with firelight, so low the rush of air whipped strands of her hair across her face. 

Instead, the dragon soared upwards with another screech, turning south and back into the pass. Maria didn’t have time to appreciate their sudden good fortune because within moments it was obvious they weren’t alone.

It was like the templars had been waiting for her to reappear, wolves circling, monsters craning in the darkness to catch sight of her brilliant red hair. She heard their cracked, parched voices screaming for the false herald. Then the first round of bullets split the smoke and she dashed to a piece of burning debris, a pile of what once had probably been a charming, picturesque chimney. From the corner of her eye, she saw Bull fold himself behind an overturned car. 

She aimed at the vague shapes in the dark, in the smoke, but she couldn’t tell if she hit anyone or anything. She thought, perhaps, she heard a strangled shout. The rumble of Bull’s rifle split the night and Maria wondered if this reminded him of Seheron, if he regretted finding himself back on a battlefield. 

It didn’t matter, it was all mechanics. Deft fingers exchanging an empty magazine for a full one as quickly as she could. Aim and squeeze, aim and shoot. They weren’t people, not anymore, these were monsters that only sounded like people when they fell because she could barely see their grotesque forms in the dark. 

She saw one shadow drop as she squeezed the trigger, but when she took aim at another and pulled, the gun rattled ominously empty. She swore and dropped her hand to her jacket pocket, moving as quickly as she could as the footfalls picked up pace, intent on storming her makeshift barrier while she struggled to reload. 

She didn’t have enough time, she knew she didn’t, so she dropped the magazine and waited only a fraction of a second for the large, human-ish shape to appear, gun pointed right at her forehead. If he would have pulled the trigger, she’d have been dead instantly. But he didn’t, and instead Maria swung her leg out. She caught him right at the knees, the hit hard enough to send him down. 

They didn’t pick templars for their flimsiness. He was up in a half second, glowing red eyes blazing in his face, red lines burned underneath it like lava. He’d dropped the gun he’d been holding, but he didn’t need it. His fist slammed into her unguarded abdomen so hard and fast it sent Maria toppling into the grey slush beneath her. 

She could barely catch her breath, her muscles clenching and spasming, but she rolled to the side just in time to avoid the red lyrium encrusted glove smashing into the ground beside her. The human scrambled on top of her, shoving her down into the snow, and she brought up one knee to catch him in the groin, praying that it worked just as well on monsters as it did on men. 

She was lucky. Despite aiming blind and breathless, her shin connected just right to cause the monster on top of her to howl and fold in on himself. She shoved herself up, scrambling in the snow, fingers numb and freezing, trying to get to his loaded weapon if she couldn’t load hers. 

His fist clenched in her hair and ripped a half-formed whimper from her throat as he twisted her neck violently to the side, but her fingers had found searing hot metal in the darkness, wrapped around it like a lifeline despite the burn. She fumbled it blindly and pressed the muzzle to the form behind her. 

The blast was muffled, but his scream pierced her ears as he released her hair. She was on her feet in a second, twisting to finish him off, but before she could another shot echoed and the man fell. 

The Seeker loomed over her, features fierce, eyes calculating. “Are you hurt?” 

Even if she was, it wouldn’t matter. Cassandra held something white in her hand, thrust it forward without a word and Maria’s hand closed over the detonator with a thud. “My sister?” She asked quickly.

“Stated she would not leave without you.” Cassandra snapped. Maria’s heart began to sink, but Cassandra kept speaking with a steely glare into the darkness, aiming and picking off one of the approaching monsters effortlessly. “So Blackwall threw her over his shoulder and manhandled her into the tunnels on my orders. I thought it was what you would wish.”

She could kiss the Seeker. She really could. Maria pointed her stolen gun into the dark and fired twice, dropping two more templars that were approaching Bull’s position. Cassandra reached into her pocket and pulled her phone from within, bringing it to her lips. “I am with the Herald and Bull. I will remain here until we receive the signal.” 

“10-4 Seeker.” Varric’s graveled voice replied. “Keep her safe.” 

Maria hoped the heat rising in her face wasn’t as transparently obvious as it was in Cassandra’s. 

* * *

A knot in Varric’s chest loosened. The Seeker was with her, the Seeker was a battering ram, a match for Aveline if ever one existed. It would be fine. It _ had _ to be fine. 

Sweet fucking Andraste he could still taste her, could still feel her fingers in his hair, the dip and curve of her waist and the press of her body against his. That brief kiss reignited every ounce of passion that had cooled in the grim realities of desperate, pitched battle for their lives. 

And yet, this time, the sheer scale of his veneration was too recent to be forgotten entirely. The woman who pressed searing lips to his also held their front lines a truly impressive amount of time, managed to topple a behemoth with her precise aim and perfect timing, heard a cry for help in the midst of pure chaos and _ climbed _ through fire without a second thought to rescue civilians as a bloodthirsty dragon circled their heads.

His inner author took copious notes. The rest of him stood silent in shocked, reverent awe like a man enraptured with a goddess. 

And he’d _ left _her. Left her to face a dragon. Left her knowing Hawke’s cards spelled doom. He knew their situation was impossible, knew they were very likely all going to die, knew she’d be in the greatest danger of all and even still…

He left because a part of him, a shriveled, weary part of him, _ believed _ . Hell, not that she was Andraste’s choosen because _ that _ was an idiotic notion, but Maria…

He believed in her. He was beginning to believe in her like he’d believed in nothing else. 

He had to keep that in mind, because if he thought for a second she _ wouldn’t _survive this, he’d throw his tablet right at Dorian’s head and turn tail back up through the tunnels while the rest of them tried to figure out where the fuck they were going. 

Ideally, they’d be heading south, under the templars, down into the mountain pass. That would get them close to the Hinterlands and all the little, charming towns and villages scattered among the area. Even though the countryside was war-torn, he’d take it over the hell erupting above their heads. He’d even drag Maria back into Redcliffe if they needed to. 

Unfortunately, they weren’t going south. The tunnels veered west, straight under the Frostback mountains, which wasn’t particularly somewhere they wanted to be stuck with a shit ton of people carrying whatever supplies they could manage to haul with them. Varric could hear the great mass lumbering some distance behind him, the wail of children, clipped orders from the remaining soldiers ushering them through. Varric feared he was navigating them all right into the asscrack of Ferelden and Orlais. 

Still better than being murdered by red templars, but only marginally. 

“We’re going to get lost and starve to death, aren’t we?” Dorian asked the silence surrounding them. “A glorious end for the Inquisition.” 

“Weren’t you camping behind some farm in Redcliffe when we met, darling?” Vivienne sniffed. 

“Don’t remind me.” Dorian sighed wearily. “Worst week of my life and not _ just _ because I met you.” 

Varric couldn’t help himself, he snorted half a laugh. Immediately, both witches turned their critical gaze to him and his tablet. Varric mouth worked quickly as he and Bianca continued to examine and contrast the different maps side by side. “Some people explore tunnels like this for fun. I think it’s called spelunking.” 

“Is that what you and our dear Herald were up to before we got kicked in the teeth by an army?” Dorian drawled. “Spelunking?” 

Varric Tethras wasn’t one to kiss and tell, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now, but before he could retort, Vivienne made a noise of sudden understanding. 

“Ah, that does explain his role in the Inquisition.” She tapped her elegant manicured fingers against her chin thoughtfully. “I assumed it was simply to annoy Cassandra.” 

Before he could retort that he may be short, but he certainly wasn’t deaf and was in fact, right there, his eyes zeroed in on something in front of him that caused his heart to nearly stop in sheer excitement. “Bianca.” He called out, eyes roaming the maps frantically. “Can we use an old natural gas conduit to get into the mining tunnels?” 

“There are no natural gas conduits listed on the maps.” Bianca stated cooly. “But if one could be found…” 

Bianca wasn’t wrong, but she didn’t see what he did. Thank the fucking Ancestors Hawke spent so much time dragging him through Kirkwall’s sewers, because Varric recognized the conduit entrance like a glowing neon sign. Varric ran forward to the hatch on the wall, ripped it open with all his rather considerable strength. He poked his head through and shone the light from his phone down the dark tunnel. His knees almost went weak when he saw another hatch some distance down. If he was right, and he was pretty certain he was, that would deposit them in the old mining tunnels, and those could be followed back to the surface easily. 

“Bianca, connect me to Curly.” He directed. “I’ve got a way out.” 

* * *

Maria felt like she’d been fighting for hours. Her arms shook with exhaustion, her mouth was full of ash and soot. Every movement came robotically, came without thought, her mind wiped clean of everything except blood, except death, except sheer, animalistic survival. They’d been forced back against the chantry doors, their backs nearly against the wall, and still they came. It was unstoppable. Relentless. 

But she still didn’t expect Bull to fall first. 

The great mountain of a qunari didn’t scream, he only grunted as he’d been doing the entire gunfight, but the hot blood splashed against Maria’s face and he crumbled to one side, his other arm bracing on the rough stones behind him. Maria didn’t even know she could still form words, but his name was in her mouth instantly, her arm over the gaping wound in his abdomen. 

“It’s alright boss.” Bull tried to grab for his gun, and that’s when Maria realized it wasn’t just the one wound. There was at least one more, high on his shoulder, a gauge through the rippling muscle. She suspected another in his leg. 

“Bull!” The blood pulsed through her fingers, like Fynn’s had, warm and sticky. Panic nearly stole her breath as he winced under her and Maria looked to Cassandra. “Get him inside.” 

“We have not received the signal.” Cassandra responded tersely, eyes scanning the darkness that suddenly seemed empty. Too empty. 

“I’ll wait for the signal.” 

“_I _will wait for the signal while you…” Cassandra argued. 

“Maria.” Bull hissed her name, but it sounded too quiet. It sounded like it was fading and there was so much blood, so much…

“I can’t carry him!” Maria screamed the words into the night, fury hiding her fear. She _ couldn’t _lose Bull, not like this, not with his blood on her hands just like Fynn’s, not when he’d been the one that held her while she keened for his loss. 

She couldn’t lose Bull because he _ refused _ to abandon her again, even when it was the smarter option, and she couldn’t carry him, she was too small, but Cassandra could. Cassandra had to. “Please, _ please _.” 

She couldn’t tell what stunned Cassandra more, her temper or her pleading, but she saw the effect they had on the Seeker. Beside her, Bull cursed in Qunlat, the low rumble dim and incoherent. 

She had lost so much, she couldn’t bear to lose the one friend she’d always had. If Andraste or the Maker was watching, if they were listening, they _ had _to do this one thing for her. It was all she asked.

Cassandra’s jaw tightened and she thrust her phone into Maria’s hand. Then she knelt down and slung one of Bull’s hulking arms over her shoulder. Maria nearly cried in relief even as Bull made a noise of protest, even as his large hand brushed against her red hair.

“I’ll be right behind you, I promise.” Her voice shook. “Just don’t bleedin’ die on me, you big asshole.” 

“I will wait in the tunnels.” Cassandra promised, eyes blazing as Maria twisted to wrench the big chantry doors open, once pristine, now scarred with signs of bullets and fire. “As soon as he gives the signal, abandon the fight.” 

Maria simply nodded, but it was enough for Cassandra. The Seeker dragged the hulking form of Bull through the open door. Maria waited for the space of one heartbeat, two, before she slammed it shut after them. She had the detonator in her pocket, Cassandra’s phone in one hand, gun in the other. Around her, Haven blazed like an inferno, but it was quiet. Finally, blissfully, silent.

Quiet like her ancestor’s tombs.

Quiet except for the beat of wings in the air. A sound that chilled her to her bones. She pulled back from the door, fastening her eyes on the sky above, pinning the huge figure of the dragon against the flickering flames. It barreled through the sky, fire sparking in its throat, heading straight towards her. 

She had little choice, she tore herself away from the chantry doors just in the nick of time, running for her life as far from the building as she could. The spot where she had stood erupted into a tower of flames immediately, the old wooden door catching blaze in seconds. 

The force of the dragon landing rocked the very ground like an earthquake and sent her sprawling back into the ashy snow. Cassandra’s phone skidded away, but she kept her grip on her gun and pushed herself to her knees, spinning to face the beast.

It’s head was twice the size of her small form, easily, and it screeched while she staggered backwards. She waited for it to spew flames, to finish her where she stood, instead it simply raised one wing as if shrugging a shoulder at her insignificance. 

There was someone underneath the shiny black wing, someone tall and slender, someone that looked more corpse than person. 

“You are the one they call the herald of Andraste.” It drawled, seeming to float rather than stride. All of Maria’s hair stood on end and she raised her pistol on instinct, aiming for the indistinct figure. 

The gun wrenched out of her hand so suddenly it startled a cry from her lips, the power burning her fingertips like open flames as the gun skittered far beyond her reach. She brought them to her numb lips and stared in growing horror at the emerging man. He stood taller than even Bull, but made of nothing but mottled ruined flesh studded with red lyrium. He stared down at her with pale, furious eyes. “The dwarf who ruined my plans. A mere slip of a girl with nothing more than luck. And yet, they would call you a god.” 

“What do you want?” Despite her fear, she managed to push the question through her chattering teeth. What could _ possibly _ be worth this destruction, this death? Why? _ Why? _

“I want the opportunity you stole. The magic in your form that belongs to me, not you.” He was above her now, looming through the poisonous smoke like the most terrifying demon Maria had ever seen. “The god you claim to serve…” 

“I don’t…” She protested.

“SILENCE!” He roared, reaching down to wrench her from the snow. She thought he meant to pull her upright, but to her shocked dismay, he lifted her effortlessly until she dangled from her throbbing shoulder, spinning in his withered grip. “You have been raised up by superstition and hysteria, as all gods are. Not one has been worthy of the name.” 

The Maker wasn’t _ her _ God, nor was his bride of any particular use to her. Nanna said the Stone once called to their people and if you were quiet, you could hear it singing softly still like a mother in mourning. 

If that was true, it didn’t sing to her. It never had. 

The creature threw her to the ground and Maria hit it so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. “I will give this world the god it deserves…” The creature promised silkily. “But first, I require what you took…” 

“I didn’t fucking _ take _ …” Her temper flared, the profanity boiling in her mouth, but before she could say much else the man began to speak. The second he started, the breath caught in her lungs and turned solid like cement. She was choking on it. She didn’t understand what he was saying, the words dark and heavy, foreign and only _ barely _ reminiscent of the musical curse words from Dorian’s language. 

She felt like they landed on her skin, burning like hot coals, like brands, starting in her fingertips and rising up her wrist, her arm, her shoulder. They grew brighter, hotter, she swore she heard her skin sizzling. 

A scream pierced the air. At first, she didn’t recognize the terrible, echoing sound as hers, not until it was joined by another before the first finished echoing. She couldn’t stop. She couldn’t fight him. 

All she could do was scream. 

* * *

Varric didn’t realize Harding was recording. Not at first. She crouched beside him, pulling people from the tunnels and into the snow. Her voice blended into the mess of babbled prayers, strangled shouts, sobs of relief and horror. Below them, glowing in a blaze of flames, Haven stood. He couldn’t make out anything there, nothing beyond shadows and fire, the chantry building still standing tall. He couldn’t hear gunfire, but he couldn’t stop to listen for it. All he could do was reach for the next grimy pair of hands. 

A kid, no older than sixteen, held Harding’s phone in shaking hands, trained on the reporter and the mass of people she was hauling out of the tunnels beside Varric. Her words came, clipped and furious, terse and to the point. “There is no telling how many people have perished in this unprovoked attack or what the templar order intends to do next. Haven’s refugees will require food, medicine, and safe transport. The soldiers that are left are unable to single-handedly…” 

“Are you _ live _ ?” He asked incredulously. Harding flicked an annoyed glance at him, one that clearly said _ of course _ she was, and that this wasn’t the time to be asking stupid questions. She continued her monologue without interruption just as Blackwall called his name. 

The next pair of hands he grabbed tightened around his wrists immediately, Bea’s pale face nearly the same shade as the pristine snow around them, drained of all color by terror and fury. Blackwall hauled himself out after her and reached back for Cole as Bea’s eyes landed with a helpless dry sob on the scene in the valley below them.

“This is the last group.” Blackwall snapped, taking Varric’s place in the line. “Tell them to get the fuck out of there while they still can.” 

Thank the fucking Maker for that. Varric twisted Bea away from the tunnel, but her hands dug more resolutely into his wrist. “Varric, please, please…” 

“Bianca.” He snapped impatiently, trying to pry her nails from his skin as gently as he could. She didn’t need to beg him. He wanted her sister out of that hell just as much as she did. “That line to the Seeker still open?” 

“Connecting.” Bianca chimed. Then her voice fell away, leaving not-quite silence in his ear instead. He could hear the crackling sound of flames, something else he couldn’t quite place, but no gunshots. 

His stomach clenched but he tried to keep his face carefully blank. He didn’t need Bea panicking and darting back into the tunnels. “Seeker!”

No answer. Varric called out again. “Cassandra, can you hear me?” 

His voice echoed back to him. Varric ripped one of hands from Bea’s grip, ignoring the bloody groves her nails left in his skin, and pressed his palm against his empty ear, trying to make sense of the sounds on the other end of the call. 

Muffled voices. There were muffled voices, a woman and a man, but he couldn’t make out the words, couldn’t…

“SILENCE!” 

Icy dread hit him like a brick wall and he didn’t keep the horrified expression from his face, he knew it by the way Bea raised her free hand to her mouth to stifle either a scream or a sob, Varric didn’t know. 

What he did know was that voice, he _ knew _ it and he’d never forget it, not as long as he lived. He still conjured it in his nightmares and the terrifying, gruesome form it belonged to raving for an old god to smite them down. But it couldn’t be. It _ couldn’t _ be, they killed him, banished him back to the afterlife they’d ripped him out of. 

The sound of an impact, something soft against something hard, an involuntary gasp of shock and pain, all the breath leaving a small figure as something hit her, or threw her, or…

She’d made the same kind of sound when Varric tossed her on the bed, but it’d been softer then, a delighted huff of surprise instead of…

More muffled words, then a surprisingly sharp and clear retort despite the breathlessness of her reply. “I didn’t fucking _ take _…” 

“She’s alive.” Varric ripped free of Bea’s other hand, digging for his phone, shouting out an order into the darkness. “Nightingale! Cameras in Haven, are any of them still working?” 

“None! Not since the town lost power!” She cried back. “Varric, what…” 

He didn’t bother to answer. He needed his shotgun, didn’t know where he’d thrown it. He had to go back, had to get to her, because there was no other voice on that line but Maria’s, and she was alone, alone facing a monster _ they _ let loose into the world. 

The first scream through his earpiece nearly tore a matching one from him, although his was born of frustration and hers from whatever that gigantic piece of blighted trash was _ doing _ to her. Each scream crested higher, screeching more desperately, wordless agonized howls into the night that Varric was shocked nobody else could hear. He knew she couldn’t hear him, knew it was hopeless, but he called her name anyway. “Maria! Maria!” 

This, at least, got the attention of both Blackwall and Sera. They whirled to him, confused and concerned. He met their eyes with a mixture of both panic and dread. 

“They’ve got her.” Blackwall guessed with a growl. 

Not they, he, and he was killing her, Varric was _ listening _ to her die, her screams tapering out into wrenching, exhausted sobs. “We have to go back.” 

They’d never make it. He saw the thought reflected in all their faces, and yet he could see the determination follow it. Blackwall turned to push back through the rest of the refugees, his hulking form prepared to shove back into the tunnel.

Varric heard the rumble in his earpiece first. A great explosion of cracking stone and imploding rubble. It echoed, not just in his head, but across the valley and into the mountains. Varric turned, helpless, to stare down at the burning ruins of Haven. 

And the smoking pile of rubble where the chantry stood. 

“No.” Bea choked on a sob, swaying where she stood, “No, no, no, no…”

Varric reached forward to catch her, helpless to do anything else.

They couldn’t go back through the tunnels. They couldn’t get to her. The sound of silence echoed in his earpiece. 

“Maria?” He whispered. 

But she couldn’t hear him and he couldn’t save her. 

* * *

It was like breathing in glass and fire, the smoke searing her lungs, the lingering pain turning each gulp of air into a hiccup. Tears, ugly, bitter things, stung her cheeks. She wanted to curl into a ball, exhausted and limp, the racking memory of pain still unbearable. 

She wanted to beg for him to stop, but she never begged Dwyka. She wouldn’t plead with this monster either. She could see the outline of the chantry, so close and so far away. She’d never make it into the tunnels, never get out of here past this monster and his dragon, but she could make sure nobody else would either. Her shaking fingers dove into the pocket of her coat and caressed the cold switch. All she had to do was flip the top of it off, then press the button.

It was easy, even if she couldn’t catch her breath. She felt it work in the way the ground shook, the sound of the explosion. She saw the great, grand stone building buckle in on itself, collapsing effortlessly with a rumble that felt like one of the mythical titans finally laying down it’s burden and going to sleep. 

The monster grabbed her arm and wrenched her back off the ground, not the whole way into the air, but enough to cause another startled, painful cry. Something pulsed beneath her skin, something frightening and agonizing. A dark, violet bruise bloomed in the palm of her hand and he scowled before dropping it. “As I thought. The spell is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling.” 

He twisted from her in disgust, through tear filled eyes she saw him reach a skeletal hand out to the dragon. It reached out for him in return like a monstrous cat it’s master. Maria felt sick, felt weak, felt so frightened she could hardly move. Still, she dragged herself up from the snow, near doubled over, staring at the monster. 

“I will find another way.” The creature muttered to himself, dark and foreboding. “But I will not have a false prophet as a rival. You must serve as an example of what happens to those who would link themselves to the gods of old.” 

She was going to die. The knowledge settled over her with an air of finality. Maria Cadash was going to die here in the ruins of the town that took her in and paid the price. 

At least it wasn’t Bea or Cole. At least it wasn’t Varric. And maybe, maybe Bull would survive. They’d all be okay, except for her. And that, too, was okay. She should have been dead a long, long time ago. 

Maybe she’d see Fynn again. Maybe he’d forgive her. 

“I’m not afraid.” She lied through her teeth. She wouldn’t admit it, not to this monster, not to the universe that waited for her demise with baited breath. “Do it. Fucking do it.” 

The mad, eerie grin he turned on her made her blood run to ice. His mocking, harsh laughter made her knees weak. He lifted his arms to the ruins of Haven and grinned down at her. “I have seen your nightmares, false herald. I know what frightens you.”

She wasn’t afraid. She _ wasn’t _ afraid, she wouldn’t allow herself to be, but the corpse continued to talk. “You fear you’ll find your ancestors in the dark, and they’ll know you for a thieving whore. You fear their disgust when they know what you’ve done. And worse, you fear it was all for not, that you’ve failed, Maria Cadash. And you have.” 

His grin stretched his face grotesquely. “Perhaps most charming of all, you fear dying in the stone that claimed your hapless ancestors, buried and forgotten.” 

Her skin prickled and she shook her head in denial, in vehement protest, but it was too late. The wraith-like figure vanished into the open wings of the dragon. Then the great beast itself sprung from the ground, lifting into the smoky sky above them. She could barely make it out as it flew over her head, leaving her alone in the rubble. 

For a moment, she thought she survived. For a second, a shining second, she nearly laughed in relief and tried to remember _ where _Cassandra’s phone had vanished to. She could call for help, she could… 

Then she saw the dragon flying to the Eastern mountain, saw it’s great maw open, heard the whoosh of flames. Saw the blizzard it kicked up with wings and claws. At first, she didn’t understand. She watched, confused and dazed, exhausted and numb. 

By the time she understood, it was too late, although she’d never had a chance to begin with. She was simply a dwarf, a woman, and she wasn’t made to survive monsters and demons. 

The snow was beginning to roll down the mountain and the dragon screeched, taking off into the sky. The first gentle shifting became a raging torrent, the avalanche forming as she watched, heading straight for what was left of Haven.

She’d be buried. Buried just like her ancestors. 

She could barely move, the pain making her limp like an old woman, but she twisted and began to run, even if it was helpless. Even if she knew she couldn’t survive. She wouldn’t go down without trying, wouldn’t lie down and make it easy like her father had. She owed Bea and Bull that, at least. 

The roar grew louder, closer, and Maria stumbled in the slush, her aching hand in the snow. She could feel the approaching mountain in her teeth, feel the ground trembling beneath her. She scrambled to get back up, the very earth fighting her, as if it was opening up beneath her to swallow her whole. 

Then she fell into the abyss. Fell into the darkness of her ancestors’ tombs. 

* * *

They were helpless to do anything but watch. Helpless to do anything but witness the fires of Haven snuffed out in a sea of white far beneath them. Varric strained to see a small form in the chaos, a flicker of life struggling before being snuffed out, but it was his writer’s heart that tried to convince him that she could have outran the avalanche the dragon called down, could have slipped out of that demon’s grasp. 

Maria Cadash hadn’t been delivered to them by Andraste, because if she had then the Maker would have plucked her from danger. She hadn’t been a fairy tale heroine, because if she had then Varric would always have written her victorious and safe. 

She’d been a woman, bright and brilliant, soft and sad, fierce and furious. For a brief period of time, she’d been perfect. She’d been untouchable. For a second, she even could have been his. 

Then she was gone. In a few, brief seconds, she was gone. Her life cut short. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t _ enough _. 

“Connection lost.” Bianca notified him softly, her voice almost gentle in his ear. He couldn’t bear to listen to it, reached up to pull it away as he stared at the pristine valley below, looking untouched by humans and battle. A grave for their fiercest warrior.

“If I’m still broadcasting…” Harding’s voice shook. She had her phone clenched in trembling hands, aimed not at her face but at the valley below. “If anyone is listening, Haven has been destroyed. Maria…” 

Harding’s voice cracked and she coughed, pulled herself together just enough to finish the sentence. “Maria Cadash, recently known as the herald of Andraste, is believed dead along with countless others who perished to save innocent civilians.” 

The words broke the silent, terrible spell over them. It was Bea’s keening wail that shattered the horrifying quiet like a bullet, her wrenching sobs too loud, too painful, too desperate to ignore. Maria’s sister pitched forward in the snow, falling to her knees and shaking her head in denial. 

Varric couldn’t even look at her without a surge of guilt threatening to send him crashing to the ground beside her. It was Sera who fell beside Bea, folded her into her too long, too skinny arms and rocked back and forth as Bea sobbed like a broken, wounded animal, her sister’s name the only thing coherent in the words spilling from her mouth. 

Varric left her even though he knew what she faced. Left her like a coward. Left her to die alone. 

Hell, _ he’d _ been the cause of it. The fucking red lyrium _ he _ found, the monster _ he _ helped release back into the world. His actions, if you followed them back to Kirkwall, were the ones that led them here. Led them to Maria Cadash entombed in the ruins of Haven with countless others while he watched impotently. 

He thought he was going to save her. He could almost laugh at the audacity if he’d ever laugh again. He’d fooled himself into thinking he wasn’t dangerous, but he should have known better. Her blood wasn’t on the templars’ hands, wasn’t on Dwyka’s. 

In the end, Varric Tethras killed Maria Cadash and he could never forgive himself. 

* * *

The footage from Haven vanished. The last choppy, horrifying moments, a reporter’s garbled voice saying Maria Cadash was dead. The two Hawke sisters sat, twisted together, on Sebastian’s overstuffed couch. Hawke could feel Bethany’s hand shaking within her own. A different reporter appeared on the screen, a pale woman who looked as horrified as they felt. 

“Varric was not in the valley.” Fenris growled from his spot behind the couch. Hawke felt his fingers dig into the overstuffed leather. “I saw him beside the reporter. He is unharmed.” 

Thank Andraste for small miracles, Hawke guessed. The bitch couldn’t pull one out of thin air for her damn herald, of course, but at least Varric…

“Bianca.” Hawke called out, her voice tight in the terrible, heavy silence. The light on her phone flashed blue in acknowledgement. “Can you connect us to our favorite dwarf?” 

“Connection impossible.” The AI’s voice drifted out of the phone’s speaker. “Cellular coverage has been disrupted and the local program has not established an alternate method of connection at this time.” 

Varric hated being disconnected. He’d fix it as soon as he could, but who knew when that would be. Until then… 

Varric was alright. And Varric _ wasn’t _ alright. She could feel it in her bones. She slipped from the couch even as Bethany tried to pull her back down. Fenris intercepted her before she could make it back to the little card table in the corner. “Stop this.” He demanded tersely. 

“I love it when you’re bossy.” She muttered more out of habit than anything else, sidestepping him easily. He had the good sense not to try and physically stop her, but he shadowed her regardless with a scowl. She placed her palms on the table and leaned over it, nauseous and helpless, glaring at the cards staring up at her. 

Death and the Hermit. She couldn’t pull anything else and hadn't been able to all day. She swiped them back into the deck mechanically. Fenris placed his hand on the small of his back, leaning over her form to whisper in her ear. “There is nothing you could have done. You know this. Don’t be foolish.” 

She leaned into his touch for comfort and reassurance in spite of herself, eyes closing. Foolish. Was it really so foolish to hope that something good could have come through all this? Had it really been so naive to wish…

She slammed her open palm down onto the table and the cards went flying. She bit back a broken sob of outrage, of terror. If the templars had begun taking red lyrium, not only had they killed Varric’s pretty herald, but Hawke’s family would never be safe. They’d never stop hunting her, never stop… 

“Oh.” Bethany’s soft exclamation broke through her scattered thoughts and made both her and Fenris turn to look. Bethany stood, in sweatpants and a too-large shirt, the cards scattered around her feet. They all landed face down in nearly a perfect circle, their elaborately designed backs identical and indistinguishable. 

All of them face down except, of course, one. One that landed nearly perfectly in the center of the mess. 

It was the brightest of her cards, the most brilliantly colored. A woman with hair of red, oranges, and yellows standing tall, one hand extended above her head, eyes closed. 

In her palm, she held the sun. 

Everything shifted. The universe tilted precariously on its axis while they stared at the card. 

“Oh.” Hawke echoed Bethany, looking up to meet her sister’s eyes. They stared at each other while Hawke listened to the voices, suddenly so much louder, clamoring in her prophet’s skull. Sometimes she could nearly make sense of them. This, this…

There was a picture burning in her mind. Vague, indistinct, colors shifting and boiling as she tried to make sense of them. A flash of red, blinding sun on white snow, a cheer, a song, a small woman on the edge of the abyss lit up from within, sunlight pouring from her veins, ambition turning her into the sun, turning her into gold and crimson. 

The Sun. The _ fucking _Sun. 

“This wasn’t destruction.” Hawke smiled, a slow, tenuous thing as she stared at the cards. This was collapsing. This was crumbling, a star from a black hole. A phoenix rising from the ashes. 

It was rebirth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If she's the sun, who's the moon? ;-)


	33. The Landslide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The refugees fleeing from Haven try to learn to live with Maria Cadash's ghost. None of them do it very well. Meanwhile, Maria Cadash tries to pull herself out of the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you all ready for another 10k chapter full of angst? God I hope so because that's what you're getting. 
> 
> Soundtrack for this chapter: Landslide, the cover version by Robyn Sherwell.

If someone said they’d pull survivors out of the tunnels, Varric would have called bullshit. His wounded heart thought it an exercise in futility more than anything else, but they searched them anyway. Thank the fucking Maker they did, and just in the nick of time to save the Iron Bull. 

Solas’s face dripped with perspiration, despite the cold, his hands glowing over Bull’s form. The mountainous qunari joined the other wounded on a blue, crinkling tarp, although he was so large he didn’t fit on it nearly as well. The healers, both magical and medical, pulled four bullets out of his flesh. Varric watched Solas pop one more into a bucket before he wiped his forehead briskly with the back of his palm. 

“I think that is the last of the wounds.” The elf stated, wiping his hands on a soiled towel. “If you were human, you would be dead.” 

“Well, thank the Maker for small miracles, huh?” Bull huffed weakly without any actual humor. His one eye trained on the small figure kneeling in the snow beside Solas, her trembling hands clasped on her knees. Varric didn’t know if Bea Cadash was shaking from the cold, shock, horror, or grief. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. One of Bull’s massive hands reached out to cover both of hers gently, squeezing softly. 

Varric vividly recalled the two sisters dancing, their hips rolling together, Maria’s exasperated little smile, Bea’s head thrown back in a full-throated laugh. It had only been a few hours. The sun rose now, illuminating the great expanse of nothing around them. It should have woken him up in Maria’s bed with her body pressed snugly against his. Their herald _ should _ have been safe and whole, victorious and sated in his arms.

Instead… 

Instead, her sister curled forward on herself like she nursed a mortal wound in her stomach. Instead, Varric’s eyes blurred with exhaustion and his chest ached around a void he couldn’t name. The nurse stitching up the wound on the kid he held down sighed wearily and nodded at her work. “That’s the best we can do here, dwarf.” 

Varric’s own joints protested as he stood, shattered glass grinding together, reminding him that he was far too old for this. For any of this. He tapped his earpiece mechanically. “Bianca, what’s our status?” 

“Attempted connection to satellite, but it is tenuous at best. Attempting to redirect 5g network connection, but progress is slow due to complete infrastructure collapse.” 

“Yeah baby.” He murmured, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “Two avalanches will do that.” 

Do that, and a hell of a lot more. Not only was their town gone, their connection to the outside world gone, their herald gone… 

Their spirit was gone too. The people surrounding him were pale, hopeless wraiths moving like robots one second, spooked like frightened rabbits the next. They kept looking down into the valley like they’d see the templars climbing up the mountain, kept searching the sky for the dragon’s reappearance. 

But nothing came because the dragon took what it wanted, he thought darkly. The monsters got what they came for. Varric made his way to the small knot of people at the edge of the cliff, their faces turned down to the dawn covered snow. As Varric watched, a small ball of soot dropped from the sky into Dorian’s outstretched hand, puffed up black feathers trilling almost sadly. Dorian’s shoulders slumped in defeat. 

Varric didn’t want to ask, but he had to. His voice sounded like sandpaper, even to his own ears. “Anything?” 

“No.” Dorian cast one last, despondent look over the pristine scene below. All traces of battle, of their hopeless flight, gone like it never even happened. “There’s no trace of her, I fear.” 

The bird hopped from Dorian’s hand up to his neck, shoved it’s tiny head into the crook of his neck in a gesture that seemed to be meant to comfort. Dorian shoved his hands in his pockets and turned from the valley.

No trace. If a magical familiar couldn’t find her… 

Varric shut his eyes against the pang of agony. If a magical familiar could not find Maria Cadash, it’s because the only thing left to find was her body underneath a mountain of snow. 

Shit. 

“Blackwall and Sera traced the tunnels back to the chantry as far as they were able.” Cassandra reported numbly to the rest of the group. “They found them blocked by debris and were unable to go further. They were uncertain if it was from the chantry or the landslide. They did not find anyone else.” 

“If we… if we make it to safety, if we are able to…” Cullen stuttered on the sentence, shook his head to clear it. “I would like to send people back to search. She deserves a proper funeral.” 

Varric’s heart rebelled at that. Maria Cadash deserved to _ live _ more than she deserved a pyre or a cairn. 

“Dwarves bury their dead.” The valley below was beautiful. Perfect. Silent and still, the mountains surrounding it, gentle and peaceful guardians. He couldn’t think of a better tomb for her to rest in. “She’s already back in the stone, Curly. Don’t try to give her to Andraste now.” 

“I swore I would protect her.” Leliana hugged her arms around herself. “I swore it, if I would not have pulled our perimeter back, if I could have bought us more time…” 

If Varric wouldn’t have found the red lyrium. If he wouldn’t have taken Hawke to that ruin in the Vinmarks. If the world were a better place… 

“She told me once that nobody could protect anyone else.” Cassandra glared into the sky. Varric wondered if the Seeker was silently arguing with her Maker. Wondered if this, perhaps, had finally broken the woman’s faith. 

“I told her that was true. But that you could die trying.” 

And that’s what Maria did. Died trying to protect them, died taking the Seeker’s words to heart. She succeeded and they failed. 

“We have to move. If the templars and this… Corypheus are still out there, we must put some distance between us and them.” Cullen ordered, turning on his booted heel. The man lifted his chin as he strode past, already beginning to shout orders. Cassandra and Leliana stayed where they were. 

“I don’t want to leave her. It seems wrong.” Leliana admitted softly. 

Varric didn’t want to leave her either, not in the chantry, not with her lips pressed against his. But he had anyway, and now it was too late. Too damn late. 

“You are certain, dwarf?” Cassandra asked, letting her eyes sink back to the snow beneath them once more. “You are certain you heard this demon? You heard him attacking…” 

“Yes.” He cut her off. He couldn’t relive it one more time. Not when Maria’s screams still echoed in his head. Not when he feared he’d hear them the rest of his life. 

“You said…” 

“I know.” He shrugged helplessly under her bitter accusation. He knew what he told the Seeker and he knew what the truth was. In this surprising instance, they were the same damn thing. “I know. We killed him, I swear.” 

“Not well enough.” Leliana muttered. 

* * *

Maria opened her eyes slowly. Closed them again with a whimper against the bright sunlight streaming through open curtains. Outside, she heard the bustle of Ostwick. The screech of car tires, the whoosh of a bus door sliding open, someone shouting at someone else from across the road. Her head throbbed in response and she curled herself tightly into the old, faded comforter before she risked opening her eyes again. 

Across the room, she spotted an empty bed the same size as hers. Above it, posters of bands taped hazardly everywhere, cut-outs of celebrities looking elegant and beautiful, postcards from far-away places with notes jammed in the corners. The quilt hung half off the mattress, revealing a battered old stuffed nug wedged nearly under the pillow. Bea still couldn’t sleep without it. 

But where _ was _ her sister? Maria propped herself up on an aching arm and listened to the sounds more closely. She heard the clink of dishes. Running water. A man’s voice crackling through old speakers. 

Maria slowly crawled from bed. She shivered, cold despite the oversized sweatshirt hanging nearly down to her knees, one of dad’s. It had the Ostwick police department logo on the right breast and the sleeves covered her own hands. She wrapped her arms around herself as she slipped into the hallway, making her way to the cheerful sounds. 

The hallway opened up into their tiny living room, but her eyes skipped over it directly to the kitchenette and the bear of a man standing at the sink, shirtsleeves rolled up, elbow deep in soapy water. His thinning red hair glowed in the meager sunlight coming through the window and he muttered under his breath as the man on the radio recounted an abysmal performance in the Proving Ring. 

Maria had a hard time getting the word out, it seemed stuck in her throat, came out raspy and breathless. “Dad?” 

He looked over his shoulder immediately and pinned her with a wide grin. ‘Hey Ria, you feeling any better?” 

She blinked at him owlishly and he sighed, efficiently turning the faucet off, brusquely wiping his hands on a towel before he threw it on the counter and crossed the room to her. His eyes traced her face skeptically while he pressed the back of his damp palm against her head. “Still out of it, then?” 

“Out of it?” She repeated.

“You’ve been sick, Ria.” Her father explained patiently, his gray eyes burning into hers. “But you look like you’re coming out of it. Thank the damn stone. I’ve been worrying myself into my grave.” 

His words sent a shiver through her that she couldn’t quite explain. He caught it and frowned, wrapping a big arm over her shoulders. “Let’s get you back to bed. You’re freezing.” 

“No.” She pressed into his warmth even as something twisted, uneasy in her stomach. “No. I want to stay with you.” 

Her father sighed, a sound made up mostly of playful exasperation. He smoothed her frazzled red hair back and nodded. “Alright. Settle up on the couch and let me get these damn dishes done. Then we’ll watch some TV until your Nan gets back. She’s bringing medicine and one of her famous old dwarven remedies.”

As he spoke, he steered her gently towards the old, battered sofa. She collapsed onto it gratefully, her lungs aching for breath. Still, she managed a weak smile back up at the lined, handsome face watching her so closely. “Serves me right for being sick.” 

“That’s my girl.” He rested one large hand on top of her head for a too-brief second before he dropped it away, returning to the sink. Maria slumped into the sofa, stretching out and resting her head on her folded arms. From behind her, she heard the water begin running again. Her weary gaze rested on the book on the coffee table, the title emblazoned proudly on its spine. 

_ Tale of the Champion. _

It sent a jolt through her. She blinked, once, twice, the words blurring. Tale of the Champion, tale of the champion, tale of… 

Her addled brain focused on the book again. The letters rearranged themselves into something else, Adventures of the Black Fox, and yes, that made more sense. That was what she was reading for school, and she was probably behind on her work, she should…

She closed her eyes instead, trying to ignore the queasy feeling in her stomach. Something inside her continued to whisper that something was wrong, something was very wrong. But it was only because she was ill. It would be fine. She would be fine, Dad and Nan would take care of her just like they always did. 

* * *

“Twenty minutes wasn’t enough time to say goodbye, The Iron Bull.” Cole had been mercifully, blissfully silent for so long Varric almost hoped the danger of him plucking their horrid, heavy sadness out of the air had passed. 

Apparently, it hadn’t. Varric trudged forward regardless, trying to follow in the path forged by the humans and the qunari in front of him. It was slow work, particularly dragging their meager supplies and their wounded. They wouldn’t make it much farther before darkness fell, not nearly far enough to put some comfortable distance between them and what was left of Haven. 

“I know.” Bull grunted. “It was all I could get. She deserved more. They both did.” 

“The tomb is dark. Tall. Too tall for dwarves. She’s a shadow, more wisp than woman, but she ignores the man with the dangerous scowl and his expensive suit. Arms full of lilies. White against red, innocence and blood. The plaques gleam golden and she searches, searches…” 

“It was at the end of the row.” Bull growled. “Hidden in the corner by the fucking fat dathrasi.” 

“Where they wouldn’t have to think of him.” Cole agreed. “But she never stops thinking about him. Fingers trace the name, beloved, brilliant, breathtaking. She trembles in the dark and presses her forehead against the marble. She asked him to forgive her, but he couldn’t hear her in the stone.” 

“Cole…” Varric pinched his nose, trying to banish the picture from his mind. A broken hearted young woman in an ostentatious mausoleum, the kind his own parents and brother were buried in, silent and bowed with grief. He didn’t think anything could be worse than picturing her clawing at the mountain that buried her or screaming while a monster ripped her to pieces, and he wasn’t thrilled to be proven wrong about that. “This… this isn’t helping.” 

“It’s alright Varric.” Bull’s one good eye fixed on the kid trudging between them. “You’re a spirit, Cole?” 

“Yes. Not a demon. Not like what they warned you about. I help. Like she does.” Cole stopped, stumbled over himself, eyes widening and swimming with emotions. “Did.” He corrected quietly. 

“They together?” Bull asked grimly. “Wherever they are - did those two find each other again?” 

“He was always with her. The ink was a promise, straight and narrow, she said she’d never go back, only forward. She didn’t want to break it, but there were other promises, older ones. Still she couldn’t forget, she traces his name into her skin and he’s always there.” 

Varric choked on his own pain. He conjured her ghost at the piano, his fury breaking over her sorrow, her fingers tracing that little tattoo. The last bit of the man she loved, the last ounce of him she had left. He hunched his shoulders defensively, cursing himself for an idiot. 

“Fynn wouldn’t have left her to die.” Bea’s raspy, choked voice came from somewhere behind them. “Not like we did.” 

And there was the dagger in his back, twisted just right to cut out whatever bleeding chunks of him were still nearly intact. He knew Bea didn’t mean to. Knew she meant it just as much for herself. But it hadn’t been Bea’s fault. She was a fucking _ dancer _ for fuck’s sake, what was she supposed to do against an army of monsters? 

The army he made. The poison he found in their veins. His actions, but he hadn’t paid the price. 

He stopped and turned around to meet Bea’s red-rimmed eyes. They sparkled so much like her sister’s, a stunning match in a world full of pale imitations. Bea would never be able to look in a mirror again without seeing her lost sibling, the same way he couldn’t see his own beard growing out without seeing Bartrand. 

She’d only feel grief, he hoped. None of his venomous anger. 

“We were supposed to be safe.” Cole whispered softly. “We left callous, bruising hands in Ostwick. Eyes glisten, she pushes her hair out of her face. We’re not going back. We’re _ never _ going back. We were free. We were _ free. _” 

Until they met a monster she couldn’t survive, one _ he _ unleashed. 

Bea shivered in the icy wind and pulled her thin coat tighter around her form. Made more for style than substance, she’d be lucky if she wasn’t the first one to freeze to death on this march into nowhere. 

Varric couldn’t bear burying those eyes one more time. He needed there to be this, if nothing else, one last trace of Maria Cadash in the world to remind him it hadn’t all been a fever dream. One haunting reminder he could force himself to look at while remembering that _ he’d _ caused this. His selfishness. His greed. It wouldn’t be redemption, but it would be better than nothing. 

Varric shrugged out of his thicker coat and held it out, a silent offering. Bea stared at it wordlessly for a second before flicking her eyes up to him, voice small and brittle. “She’s not here to impress anymore, Tethras.” 

But if he ever met her again, in the stone or at Andraste’s side, he could say he tried to keep Bea safe. “I know. Take it anyway.” 

* * *

The clink of a mug on a wooden surface made her eyes open again and she shivered in spite of herself. A brisk tut greeted her feeble moan and she felt warm, wrinkled silk fingers on her forehead. From far away, she thought she could hear the gentle chime of a piano, chords trembling in the air before fading. She opened her mouth and breathed out a name. “Fynn?” 

“Just me, miri ghel.” Zarra Cadash clucked, the old dwarven words falling from her tongue as effortlessly as rain from the sky. She felt like she hadn’t heard them said so softly for such a long time. Zarra tucked a piece of hair behind Maria’s ear and sighed, settling onto the arm of the couch. 

Fynn. Who was Fynn? Why had she thought…

“If you’re not in the frying pan, Maria, you’re in the fire.” Zarra muttered. “What are we going to do with you?” 

Maria looked up into the well worn face gently examining her. She fought the burn in her throat and tried to force something out of her lips, but it hurt, it hurt to breathe and she was so cold, freezing despite the warmth of the apartment…

“Hush.” Zarra cautioned. “Save your strength, you’ll need it.” 

It was easy to listen to her, easy to relax back into the cushions with a shiver. Zarra’s hands stroked her hair, threading through the strands. 

She flinched away, afraid of the inevitable tangle of a brute fist, the sharp tug to reveal her neck, his filthy voice in her ear. As soon as the thought appeared, it evaporated, leaving Maria dizzy. Zarra stopped immediately and released an old, bone weary sigh. 

“I’m sorry.” Maria apologized weakly, trying to prop herself up on her elbow. “I’m sorry, I…” 

“It is not your fault.” Zarra soothed softly, standing and making her way over to the stuffed armchair where she always settled. “I hope someday he meets the monster he has made.” 

She didn’t understand the words, like they too were in their old mother tongue, but the cadence of them set her at ease. She laid back down on the sofa and Zarra opened her crossword book, untucking a pen from behind her ear. Maria listened to her own rattled breath, shivering despite herself, as Zarra tapped the pen against the book impatiently. 

Maria’s palm buzzed and ached, itched and burned. She brought it to her eyes, pushing back the long blue sleeve to reveal her own fingers. Nails bitten down to the quick, scratched and bloody but from what she didn’t know. She slowly drew the sleeve lower, turning her wrist to stare into her palm. 

There was a burn throbbing in her palm, a great circle with curling, almost graceful, lines arcing from the center. It looked like the sun. She frowned, both bewildered and afraid. 

“What’s a seven letter word for the most revered among dwarves?” Zarra asked, the question thudding in the silence like the burn on Maria’s hand was of no consequence. 

“Paragon.” Maria answered numbly, curling and uncurling her fingers. She thought she saw flickers of pale gold light beneath her skin, but she couldn’t be sure. “But there hasn't been any since our ancestors fled to the surface two hundred years ago.” 

Zarra looked more satisfied than a cat that swallowed the canary whole. She beamed slowly at Maria, face lighting up. “I am not so sure of that, miri ghel.” 

She meant to argue, to ask what exactly her grandmother meant by that, but instead her bleary vision caught on the book on the table again. It still had the correct title, Adventures of the Black Fox, but the cover was wrong. Black with a red bird rising, and in between the pages…

Maria’s trembling fingers reached out and pulled the card free, flipped it over to stare at it. Two figures intertwined, laughing, in love, the world at their feet. 

The Lovers. 

And just like that, the scene around her froze. Buzzing filled her head. The card fell from her fingertips into the vast darkness. 

She cried out, but nobody heard her. 

* * *

They stopped with just enough daylight left to put up some kind of makeshift camp. Unstable shelters made of little more than tarp and string, held together with prayers more than anything else, didn’t do much to keep the wind out. Someone built up great big fires, beacons in the night if anyone was looking for them, but the other option was freezing to death. At least the dragon would be quicker. 

Although Varric supposed there was something to be said for being at once blazing hot and cold as ice. He mopped at the sweat on his brow and turned his back to the flames while he fucked around with the phone in his hand. 

“Bianca did you try resetting…” He began tersely. 

“Resetting is impossible considering that would require some services working to begin with.” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose and toyed with the idea of throwing his earpiece into the fire. Instead, he grit out through his teeth another question. “What _ haven’t _ we tried?” 

“Signal boosting in your area may allow me to connect to a signal.” Bianca suggested cheerfully enough. “If you can obtain any other mobile devices…” 

“Would you like me to pull these out of my ass?” He asked grimly. 

“If they can be found in that section of your anatomy.” She replied smoothly in his ear. “I would recommend immediate sanitation upon removal.” 

Internally, Varric descended into a blistering torrent of cursing. 

“What do you need?” Bea’s voice cut through his thoughts and pulled him back to the blighted mountainside. 

He needed the _ real _ Bianca because she was probably the only one who could fix this mess, but when he turned to tell Bea that the words died in his throat. Maria’s eyes stared out of her face and Varric couldn’t utter Bianca’s name in front of them. Not now. Hell, maybe not ever. Another surge of guilt poured through him and he ripped his eyes back down to the device in his hand. 

“I need to boost our signal here. If we’ve got enough phones, I may be able to make our own network and connect to the satellite. Maybe.”

If they were lucky, which of course had yet to happen. But Bea nodded, just once, and pressed a smashed granola bar into his other hand. “Mine’s dead. But I’ll start asking.” 

“They’re not going to give them up.” Varric advised with a tight frown. “It’s all most of these people carried out of Haven.” 

“I’ve got to do something.” She lifted her chin up, both fierce and determined, and for a second she looked so much like her sister tears pricked Varric’s eyes. Then she took off, splitting through the crowd. 

If anyone could get them to give up their only lifelines, maybe Bea Cadash with her haunted gray eyes could. They all owed Maria their lives, after all. Maybe they could start repaying the debt to her sister.

He was so busy watching her vanish in the growing darkness, he almost missed the Seeker’s form striding towards him. A vein in Cassandra’s temple throbbed but her voice was steely with command. “We are still blind?” 

“As baby nugs.” Varric confirmed. “Trying my best over here, Seeker.” 

“I thought perhaps you would join me.” Cassandra’s frown deepened even as she spoke, eyes restlessly scanning the gathering darkness. “I am going to retrace our steps to search for survivors.” 

Survivors. _ Her _. But they couldn’t say her name, not out loud, not anymore. It was like ripping the stitches out of a fresh wound. The pain settled low in his stomach with his helplessness, his exhaustion, the fucking hopelessness of their whole situation. He looked down at the bright rectangle of light in his palm and frowned. “You’re wasting your time, Seeker.” 

“Perhaps if anyone could have survived, she…” 

Cassandra’s words only caused two things. A jarring spike of pain through both his heart and head and a red haze of fury. “Let me guess. The Maker saved her.” He spat self-righteously. “The same one that let a fucking dragon kill a hundred people. Where was your Maker then, Seeker?” 

Cassandra’s jaw tensed and she glared down her nose at him like he was scum on the bottom of her boot. “I do not know.” She snapped. “But I know where my herald was. And I owe it to her to…” 

“Because we killed her.” The confession tasted bitter and venomous on his tongue. “Me and the fucking red lyrium. You and your damn holy war.” 

Cassandra’s face flushed beet red. “She fought bravely to the bitter end, and all you can do is make her a victim of fate. You are no knight errant, Varric. It does not suit you to play one.”

He was no knight errant. Cassandra’s statement cleaved too close to the truth, and that cut him deeper than he wanted to admit, so he lashed out in turn. “You left her to die.” 

So had he, though. They all had. He expected that the grief darkening Cassandra’s face would feel righteous, feel like vindicated justice, but instead all it did was redouble his own agony. His breath came, sharp and twisted in his chest, and he half hoped Cassandra would slug him. 

Instead, she simply drew herself up to her full height. “I thought you cared for her. I see I was mistaken.” 

With that, the Seeker twisted her form and strode away as fast as she came, a storm scattering everyone in her path. Varric watched her go, heartsick with impotent rage. Not at her. Not even at the demons and wars that broke down on their heads. 

He had cared for Maria. He had believed in her and he had let her down. The only one he could be rightfully angry with was himself. 

* * *

She woke up again, but this time, she was alone in the dark. The only thing Maria heard was her own rattling, scratching breath heaving from her lungs with so much effort she could barely think. Every inch of her body ached, bruised and battered, protesting as she rolled from her back onto her side. Bright, agonized pain burst to life in her chest, but the sound she made was choked, weak. 

She coughed, trying to ease the unbearable pressure in her chest. It turned out to be a massive mistake. A garbled screech rang in the room and something dark splattered onto the dirt and snow beneath her. Maria touched trembling fingers to her lips and brushed the rest of the blood from her mouth. Her stomach revolted with the taste of iron, but she breathed through the nausea.

Cold. It was so damn cold. She couldn’t see anything in the oppressive blackness pressing down on top of her. Her limbs shook as she pushed herself from the ground, the rubble and snow beneath her. 

Her voice was little more than a rasp, but she called out anyway. “Help.” 

Her word echoed back both mocking and hollow, sending chills down her spine. 

She was alone. She was completely alone and improbably alive. Injured, terribly injured it seemed, but alive. Her head spun with the sheer impossibility of it. 

For now, she survived. Until she froze to death or bled out.

She had to move. She pressed the palm of her hand down to push herself up and nearly screamed again at the bright burst of pain. Her right palm burned so fiercely that she could only clench her fingers tight against it. She lifted her fist to her chest and slowly unfurled them, trying to examine her own skin in the murky darkness. 

Something glowed in her palm, a pulse of light, sparks dancing in her veins like gold. It cast dim yellow light in a hazy circle around her even as it seared her skin. Despite the pain, she was so thankful for the light in the darkness she nearly descended into sobs.

If she burned her fingers holding the sun, well, it was better than suffocating in the dark. 

She left her right hand unclenched and pushed herself up on her shaking left arm. The world spun while she staggered upright. She doubled over, her chest protesting the movement, struggling to catch her breath. 

Ribs were broken, a clinical part of her insisted. At least one, at any rate, maybe more. She’d lived through broken ribs before, that would be fine. It was the shortness of breath, the crackling sound of her lungs, the blood in her mouth, that drew more concern. 

That and the way the whole caverned shimmered and spun. Maybe a concussion could be expected when an entire mountain fell on her head, but all Maria could think was that if she couldn’t plan clearly, if she couldn’t breathe, if she couldn’t walk…

She’d die. She’d die buried under the mountain, choking just like her ancestors had. 

The fear of that caused her to stagger forward slowly, painfully. Each step sent knives digging deeper into her chest, each footfall drew helpless little whimpers from deep inside her no matter how she tried to choke them down. She wanted to scream again into the dark, ask if anyone was there, if anyone could hear her. 

She knew they couldn’t. She knew nobody was there. Nobody was coming to help her. 

So she did the only thing he knew how to do. She dragged her beaten, battered form forward into the dark. 

The tunnels dragged on, sloping upwards, dark and wet. She thought she saw the remnants of old wooden beams lining them, and spared a moment to wonder if these were built by humans mining the mountain or by dwarves linking their homes. 

She thought humans, but she wouldn’t know either way really. It was only her meager attempt to distract herself. She was so tired, her chest ached like she’d swallowed a ball of fire, and all she wanted was to lay down. 

But she thought if she went back to sleep, she’d never wake up again. 

At least Nanna and Dad were waiting there for her. Maybe if she slept, she’d see Fynn too. 

_ Promise you’ll come find us _. 

Bea had asked, though, and she had promised. Could she really break one more promise to her sister? 

She was trying, Maria thought wearily. She was trying her damnedest but the path was so dark she could barely make it out in the dimming light of her palm. Each heartbeat seemed a bit unsteady, causing her vision to blur and shake. 

But she thought she could smell something fresh and clean through the dirt. Thought she could feel the wind on her face. Pine trees. The cold, pristine scent of fresh snow. She stumbled through the abyss and felt the wind whip against her face, brisk and unforgiving. Maria cast her eyes up and saw the stars.

The blurring wasn’t just her unsteady heartbeat. It was tears of sheer, unfathomable relief. At least if she died, she’d die up here, die with the starlight on her face and the unsullied air of the mountains in her barely functioning lungs. The wind blew away her horror even as she shuddered in the cold. She didn’t need the dim glow of her hand, not when the stars shone above her, so she shoved the numb fingers into her coat pockets.

Her stomach rolled as she grasped something at once unfamiliar and _ completely _ familiar in the pocket. She withdrew the slim rectangle and stared at it in confusion. She’d left her phone on the counter. It hadn’t been charged, but it was showing nearly a full battery and it was _ here _ in her pocket, just like magic. 

_ You can’t lose this beauty. If I walked out of the room without it, I’d find it in my pocket ten minutes later. _

She called bullshit and chalked it up to Varric being Varric, but if he hadn’t been lying, if he… 

Maker’s breath she’d kiss him if she ever saw him again. 

She fumbled with the lock screen, but it took her thumbprint, eventually, and opened up to reveal all her installed apps, like it was a normal day and she wasn’t lost and alone at the mouth of a cave somewhere in the fucking mountains. Like she may want to instagram this. Like she wasn’t dying, choking on her own blood, stumbling blindly towards help that may or may not be there. How was she to know _ anyone _ had escaped? If the dragon had found them…

She couldn’t think like that. She _ couldn’t _. 

The signal strength on her phone barely existed, a sputtering one bar that seemed to reappear and vanish with every jagged beat of her heart. But she had to try. She had to…

She opened the contacts and scrolled to nearly the very first name, tapping it and bringing the cold device up to her numb ear. It seemed to take forever to connect, but it never rang. Instead, a brittle, robotic voice began to speak. The sounds disjointed and nearly incomprehensible.

“-umber you have - out ser - pl -”

She swore and hit the disconnect button, fighting the urge to throw the device down the damn mountain. She pulled it back from her ear and stared at the bright rectangle of light, trembling as she tried to navigate her contacts, thinking that _ Varric’s _ phone was always on, and if she had some signal surely he…

She stopped, Bull’s name under her shivering thumb. Bull, wounded and bleeding, collapsed and _ dying _ because of her. Bull, who never abandoned her, no matter how hard she pushed him away, no matter…

_ She’d been in the holding cell for three days, which was unusual. Nobody had come telling her what exactly she was being charged with or offering to read her rights to her and call a lawyer. She hadn’t even ended up with some pro bono ass who couldn’t even shave telling her, earnestly, that her best bet was to plea out and go to rehab for the drugs she definitely had to be on to keep ending up in these situations. _

_ The peace and quiet was kinda nice. The fact that Bea had to be home alone, worried sick, was less so. She tried to ask for a phone call, but nobody wanted to speak to her. _

_ Unsurprisingly, the cops at the station never could quite meet her eyes, too many of them remembered dad. Too many of them remembered her the way she’d been before. _

_ That was the worst part. She didn’t care about going to jail over a damn bar brawl, she was old enough to know life wasn’t fair, but she wanted out of this damn station before she choked on the guilt. _

_ Of course, before that could happen, the universe had to shove _ ** _him_ ** _ through the door. _

_ She heard him before she saw him, but she didn’t move from the wooden bunk. Didn’t open her eyes or sit up. She’d recognize the way he moved for the rest of her life, the huge strides he took, the weight of his body in each footfall, the way he favored his right side ever so slightly. _

_ “Hell of a ride tracking you down this time, boss.” Bull’s warm, graveled voice floated through the bars and Maria squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “Little B knew you got picked up in a bar fight, but there’s no records of you getting processed in any of the systems. Been combing every station in this city.” _

_ Well, that was even more interesting, but besides the point. “Sorry to waste your time. I’m alright, they’ll let me out eventually.” _

_ They always did. Guilt on their part, she thought. When Maria got picked up, she never got picked up for long. _

_ “You could have called.” _

_ Here they went again. Bull’s wounded pride, her wounded heart. She brought her fist to her eyes and rubbed them briskly. _

_ “I figured I’d give Krem a call when I got charged.” She answered dully. “I was just waiting.” _

_ “Who started the brawl?” _

_ Maria didn’t answer. She honestly wasn’t entirely certain of the answer. She’d been left to her own devices at the bar, blissfully free of the heavy pressure of Dwyka’s hand on her back while he vanished into the seedy hidden rooms behind it. She’d been minding her own damn business when the punches started flying. Wouldn’t have bothered getting involved at all except she got caught in the middle of it. _

_ Bull didn’t pursue her stony silence, but he didn’t let it rest either. “Do you know what we thought when we couldn’t find out where you were booked?” _

_ “I can imagine.” _

_ “Krem’s looking at the morgues. Figured Dwyka finally put a bullet in your brain.” Former special ops he may have been, but even Bull couldn’t hide the bitter pain in that sentence. “All because you won’t fight him and you won’t let us do it for you.” _

_ She shouldn’t have looked, but she did anyway. She pushed herself up off the bunk and stared at the giant form outside her cell. Bull rested his great horned head against the bars, fist clenched tightly and eyes closed as well. _

_ She couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t because it would ruin his career and he worked so damn hard to carve a life for his own here, one free of blood and war. She’d ruined enough lives as it was. _

_ “You should go.” She said instead. “I don’t need your help.” _

_ Bull looked for a moment like he may lose his tight control and a part of her almost wished he would. Maybe then she could stop living these agonized moments where he tried to convince her to save herself, or if she wouldn’t to just let him… _

_ “Alright, boss.” He gave in with a weary sigh. “Just remember, I’m here if you need me. You can call whenever you want, and it doesn’t matter what that piece of shit does or says, okay?” _

She could call Bull. He always wanted her to call when she was in trouble, and she never did. Now he was probably dead and it was probably her fault and all she wanted to do was say she was _ fucking _ sorry for all the times she told him to go away. 

She tapped on his name and waited. 

She didn’t expect him to answer. 

“Boss?” He sounded so far away, but his voice was clear, sharp, not fading from blood loss, not a half garbled grunt. She nearly sank to the ground in relief, but she didn’t answer him. Not until he called out a second time, the phone crackling in her ear. “Boss!” 

“I’m sorry.” She needed to get that out, if it was the last thing she said she needed to apologize. “I’m sorry, I should have called, I should have…” 

“-alright.” His voice cut out, but it was there, a lifeline in the darkness. “-ere are you?” 

“I don’t know.” She admitted. “I don’t know. Is Bea with you, is she safe, is she…” 

It was too much. Too much talking and her body revolted. For a terrifying, dizzying moment she couldn’t catch her breath at all. Coughs racked her form so hard she nearly dropped the phone from shaking fingers, dark splashes dotting the snow around her. 

“-hurt.” Bull’s voice mumbled. “How bad?” 

“Bad.” She croaked weakly. “Bea…” 

“Fine, boss.” Bull tried to reassure. “-re fine. You di-” 

She lost him completely for a moment. The thought of it sent her into a blind panic. “Bull?” She called. 

“I’m here.” 

He was always there. She choked on the sobs that threatened to overtake her. “I need help.” She admitted softly. 

“-ay with us.” Bull soothed briskly. “Coming to fin-” 

The phone beeped sharply once, twice. Maria pulled it away from her ear and looked at the blinking corner where the bar had been, one that showed nothing more than a circle with a line through it. 

She waited, anxiously hoping it would reappear, that it would ring, that she wouldn’t be left alone again in the blackness. But nothing happened. Nothing at all. 

She slipped the phone back into her pocket and looked out into the endless night. They’d never find her, not one dwarf alone in the dark. She needed to find them, she needed…

She needed to keep fighting. Just a bit longer. 

* * *

Harding shook her head and sighed. “I don’t know. That message may have gone through.” 

It may have. But it probably didn’t. Varric could barely get a wavering signal to last for ten minutes. They’d all starve and freeze to death before he got any sort of worthwhile communication going at all. He couldn’t get a large enough map downloaded, only a small circle of the surrounding areas where Haven used to be. Couldn’t call, couldn’t text, couldn’t even listen to his own voicemails, and he had _ several _, most of them from Hawke, two from Bianca. All of them disjointed, incomprehensible things. 

He tried one of the voicemails again, one of Hawke’s. He knew he couldn’t… he couldn’t listen to Bianca’s voice. Not now. Not with Maria’s touch still seared on his skin. 

“-arric!” Hawke’s recorded voice started in his earpiece. “-vived, I know. -crazy. You’ve go-”   
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, tapped away from the app on his phone and stared down at it with a frown. 

“I heard Little B was looking for phones for you.” Bull’s rough voice grumbled from behind him. “But I can’t find her.” 

Bull thrust out a sleek phone, a model Varric recognized, one of Rogue Tech’s newer ones. What jarred him, temporarily, from his frustration was the case Bull used. It was a very shiny, very bright, very iridescent _ pink _.

“Pretty, huh?” Bull asked. 

“It’s pink.” Varric stated dumbly, unable to help himself. 

“It’s pretty.” 

Well, he couldn’t argue that point. He took the device with a brisk shake of his head and opened the menu, searching for the settings. While he did that Bull looked out into the darkness surrounding them. “Cassandra’s back. She didn’t find anything.” 

Varric knew she wouldn’t so he tried to hide the pang of disappointment that echoed with his guilt and grief. He was being unfair, really, and a selfish ass. He could see the weight of sorrow barely veiled on Bull’s features. The other man had known her longer, after all. Varric managed to make the words come out, almost smooth. “How are you holding up?” 

Bull sighed. “I’ve been prepping to plan her funeral for years. Let myself believe I wouldn’t have to for a minute. So… that’s a real punch in the gut.” 

The understatement of the year. “Dwyka?” Varric asked quietly.

“Bastard.” Bull growled. “Would have given my other eye to get her away from him. Away from the Carta. Out of Ostwick. The universe does it for me and then…” 

“A dragon, an army, and a demon.” Varric’s red lyrium. The war Varric’s old friend started. He sighed, tapping on Bull’s phone and setting it on their makeshift table next to the rest. “Bianca, link up that one. See what happens.” 

Maria was dead. And it didn’t matter, but it did. He turned his back on Harding and focused his full attention on the hulking qunari looming over them. “Why? Why didn’t she leave?” 

The facts of Maria’s life, up to a point, were _ abundantly _ clear. A path that veered straight into tragedy like he’d written it himself. Her father’s suicide. Her entrance into the Carta. Her grandmother’s death. Her runaway romance with a rich boy. His eventual murder and her trial for the crime. 

That, at least, all made some kind of sense. It was the _ return _ to the Carta that he never understood. But he saw Bull’s fury flicker to the surface and knew he wouldn’t get an answer from him either. “He had something on her. Fuck if I knew what it was, but he had some kind of information, something she never shared with me. Couldn’t ever figure it out. Couldn’t get it out of Bea either.” 

“Varric, I thought I saw something go for a minute.” Harding’s voice leapt with excitement, breaking the tension. Varric turned to her with a weak almost smile. 

“And here I thought we’d be in the dark forever.” Varric mumbled. 

“You holding up?” Bull asked. 

Varric honestly hadn’t expected the question to get turned on him, not by Bull. He looked up again and shrugged helplessly. “I’ll live.” 

He’d live with her lips burned onto his, live with her ghost tantalizingly out of reach. Live with the knowledge she’d been almost-free, almost-safe, but he’d been the bigger threat in the end than any gangster in the Free Marches. “I didn’t know her like you did.” 

In the end, he didn’t get to grieve like her family did. She was an almost, one more in a life full of them, and she always would be. But Varric was an author, he dealt and traded in almosts and fantasies. In his head, he could spin a story where Maria vanquished the dragon, where he didn’t leave her, where she _ lived _. 

The buzzing vibration of Bull’s phone tore another one of those nearly adorable squeaks from Harding, followed by a muffled shout of victory. Bull’s phone screen lit up blue, a call coming through. The network must have been _ somewhat _ functional, then, although he doubted they’d be able to carry on an audio conversation with…

A complex guitar chord broke the silence, bright and bold, followed by a man crooning through Bull’s phone speakers. “Maria, Maria…. She reminds me of a west side story…” 

Almost as soon as the music started, the picture flashed on the screen. An old photo, he guessed, but it depicted a younger Maria perched on top of a low wall next to a slender human man. The clean shaven figure grinned almostly shyly and her lips were pressed to his cheek. The man had a graduation cap clutched in his hands. 

The name flashing beneath the photo was only one word, ‘Boss.’ 

“What the fuck…” Varric’s mind veered off in a thousand different directions. Maria had an old phone, an old number, Bull never changed it. That was it. Someone else was calling from Maria’s old phone the one…

The one that melted in the vortex when she stumbled out of it. 

But it couldn’t be Maria’s _ actual _ phone calling, because it was buried in Haven with Maria, and that would be…

Bull moved quicker than Varric did, picking the phone up and sliding to accept the call. He hit the speakerphone button as both he and Harding stared, agog, at the device in his big hands. “Boss?” Bull greeted with a rumble.

Nothing. Nothing but crackling silence on the other end. They’d been called by a ghost, the ghost of the woman they abandoned in Haven, hounding and haunting them. 

“Boss!” Bull’s voice cracked. Varric could hear the yawning desperation under it. 

“Sorry.” A small, weak voice whispered through the speakers. She sounded exhausted, she sounded like she was drowning, she sounded…

“I’m sorry.” She whispered hoarsely. “-ave called, I -” 

She sounded _ alive _ and that was the one damn thing Varric Tethras hadn’t been prepared for. The one thing that hit him harder than anything else could. 

“Listen to me, it’s alright.” Bull rumbled, one gleaming eye boring into Varric’s face. “It’s alright. Where are you?” 

Varric’s fingers moved before his brain finished comprehending that _ she _ was calling. A part of him trembled, breathless with hope, even as he barked out an order. “Harding, keep an eye on that network connection. We’ve got to keep it stable as long as we can.” 

“Don’t kno-” Maria’s voice cut in and out of Bull’s phone. “Be-” 

The racking, agonized fit of coughing that crackled through the speakers made his heart stutter fearfully. That sounded… bad. That sounded _ really _ bad. 

Bull jumped right to the point too. “That sounded like it hurt. How bad?” 

If she answered, it didn’t come through. It didn’t need to. Varric could hear the way her voice trembled on the next word. “Bea…” 

“Keep her talking.” Varric directed tersely. They needed to keep the line open, keep Maria on it, as long as they possibly could. “Bianca, I need a trace on that call.” 

“Signal is…” 

“She’s fine, Boss.” Bull reassured immediately over top of the AI in his ear. “We’re fine. You did it, you know. You did… you were amazing. Always knew you were. Thought I wouldn’t get the chance to tell you.” 

“I know the signal is shit.” Varric hissed. “I need a trace and I need those maps of the tunnels again.” 

“Bull!” A momentary, jarring hiss of panic from the woman on the line. 

“I’m here.” Bull’s grip tightened on the phone and he ducked his head. “Keep it together, boss.” 

“Tracing the signal will use network resources supporting the call and drain the battery of the devices supporting…” 

“Do it quick then, baby.” Varric nearly begged. 

“I need-” Maria’s voice cut out again. Varric saw the maps flash on the tablet. 

“Varric, we’re losing…” Harding’s own voice rose in panic. 

“Stay with us, Boss.” Bull’s one eye trained on the maps as well, watching as they zoomed in closer and closer to the mountainside. “You’ve just gotta stay with us. We’re coming to find you, I swear. I’ll get you out of this. Keep your head and-” 

The screen flickered, a harsh beeping the only sound, the light blinking in and out, the disconnected button flashing. The picture of Maria and the unknown man stayed for only another moment before it vanished as well. Bull cursed in the heavy, rough language of the Qunari before he turned his ire on Varric. “Tell me you can find her.” 

“I can narrow it down to a two mile radius.” Bianca advised. 

Varric could narrow it down further. He was almost certain he could. “Get the Seeker. Cole. One of the witches. Fuck, get all of the witches. Sparkler’s damn bird too.” 

Bull took off faster than a man of his size ought to be able to move, particularly one who’d been shot several times in the last twenty-four hours. “Show me your trace area.” He directed the AI. Harding crowded over her shoulder, whistling through her teeth as Bianca illuminated a red circle in the mountain terrain. 

“That’s a lot of area to search.” Harding murmured. “And the network is down again, I don’t know how long it’ll take…” 

She shouldn’t have survived, and if she had… well, she clearly didn’t dig her way out of an avalanche. Nobody could. But if she fell into the old mining tunnels in the chaos… It would have been a nasty tumble. If anyone could walk away from it, however, _ apparently _ Maria could.

He layered the maps over top of the search area. “Bianca, mark the exits.” 

He sent a silent prayer to the Maker he didn’t quite believe in. Then watched one, just one, pristine red dot appear to the southwest quadrant of their search area. 

They could save her. They could _ save _ her. He hadn’t failed her yet. 

* * *

Maria’s hazy, injured, oxygen starved brain shouted at her to keep going. Stopping now would mean death, frozen in the mountains she’d thought so pretty and clean. It would be game over. 

It would _ all _ be over. Blissfully _ over _. No more pain, no more suffering, no more constant weight on her shoulders. Bea. Cole. Bull. The Inquisition. The demons and red templars. They wouldn’t be her problem any longer. They’d all have to go on without her. 

Her body protested as she slipped and stumbled, face first, into another snow bank. Her agonized wail of pain was barely audible over the sound of the wind. Maybe she didn’t make a sound at all. If there was no one to hear a tree falling in the woods, did it even really happen? Had any of this really happened? 

She pushed herself up again. And again. And again. Her fingers shook but she couldn’t feel them. The blood that stained the snow around her crimson was just an interesting side note.

She wondered if this was how her father felt when he held the gun to his temple, alone in his room, his girls at school, the word “pig” spray painted on their apartment door and the crowd outside baying for his blood? 

Had it felt so heavy for him too? So easy to put it all down? 

She stumbled one last time and darkness clouded the edges of her vision. Her heartbeat throbbed painfully and she couldn’t, she couldn’t, she couldn’t…

Fingers curled around her shoulders. Too hard, too painful, digging into sore muscles even as she protested, even as she tried to fight off whatever new hell she’d stumbled into. They were a person’s hands, a person’s voice, but she couldn’t understand any of it. She shoved against solid bulk, blind in the dark, the agony under her skin singing as she struggled weakly against the person caging her. Fingers curled around her wrists and she knew. She _ knew _. 

It was Dwyka. He’d found her, somehow, in the snow. Found her so _ he _ could be the one to finally kill her, or worse, force her to keep living, force her back to Ostwick, back into…

“Maria, stop.” A voice, too rough with emotion, pleaded in her ear. “It’s just me. It’s just me, we’re gonna take care of you, baby. I won’t hurt you, I won’t ever hurt you, Maria…” 

A bird cawed, high and bright in the sky. A spark jumped to life inside her, and she tried to say his name, but it came out an unrecognizable noise instead. The hands that tried to push him away clutched into his shirt instead, numb fingers aching as she twisted them tighter. 

“Varric!” Someone yelled in the distance. 

“Here! I’ve got her!” He shouted back, arms wrapping tight around her, his lips pressing against her temple as he pushed back stiff, blood soaked hair from her face. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He murmured softly. 

“Thank the Maker.” It was Cassandra, she was here too. Then there were other threads of voices, words she couldn’t make out, a bubble of noise converging on her. Shouted orders, a human’s broad arms gently prying her from Varric to hoist her into the air. The pain took her breath away, the darkness swirled closer, but the last thing she heard was Bull, his voice warm and suffused with pride, before the blackness claimed her. 

“Welcome back, boss.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just... I love them so much why do I keep torturing them???


	34. The Rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue party brings Maria Cadash back to their camp to recover.   
Varric Tethras gets a bit naked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, we've earned this fluff. Enjoy it <3 <3

Finding her had been a miracle. Maria’s small, crumpled form had barely been visible underneath the snow clinging to her hair, her clothes. When Varric spotted crimson in the beam of his phone’s weak flashlight, he raced toward it without thought, wishing, hoping, wanting… praying they weren’t too late. Her form felt stiff as ice beneath his fingers, worse, she didn’t respond to her name in his mouth, didn’t move until he tightened his hold on her. 

The instant his fingers curled into her shoulder, she made a small, broken sound. Not quite a whimper, but not a scream either. She shuddered under his hands and bucked against his grip weakly. Her eyes gazed ahead, unseeing, into the darkness while she struggled helplessly against him like a bird beating her wings against a cage. His stomach dropped, his fingers gently circling her delicate wrists while she tried to push him away. A quiet sob escaped Maria’s lips and… 

It broke him. Just a little. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it. 

“Maria, stop.” He pleaded into her freezing ear. She shivered, but some of the fight seemed to bleed out of her. “It’s just me. It’s just me, we’re gonna take care of you, baby.” 

Her faint struggles began to cease so he released her wrists and gently wrapped his arms around her waist, cradled her to his chest. “I won’t hurt you.” He promised to the shivering, half-conscious  _ miracle _ in his arms. “I won’t  _ ever _ hurt you, Maria.” 

Somewhere above them, Nyx cawed loudly, repetitively, sounding the alarm for the entire rescue party. Maria collapsed against his chest with a broken, weary sigh that  _ could _ have been his name, but he couldn’t tell. There were other voices calling to each other in the darkness, growing awareness that someone had found something, although who or what was still unknown. They could only hope.

But hope had gotten them this far.

“Varric!” Dorian’s voice cried out from the slope somewhere above him. “Varric, where in the blighted hell are you?” 

“Here!” He pulled his face away from Maria’s chilled skin to yell up over his shoulder. “I’ve got her!” 

He pressed his lips against her temple, one hand gently pushing back the stiff, frozen hair framing her face. He could taste the iron of blood on his lips, her skin frigid underneath his mouth. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He whispered softly. 

Cassandra sent up a prayer of weary gratitude. Dorian appeared beside him like he’d emerged from the shadows themselves, his gleaming dark eyes exhausted and panic stricken while he examined the shuddering woman in Varric’s arms. 

“Venhedis.” Dorian cursed. “Where is Blackwall?” 

“I can carry her.” Bull rumbled. 

“Perhaps. However, we did remove five bullets from your body. I am uncertain if you should even have joined us.” Solas reached past Varric and laid a gentle hand over Maria’s shoulder. The elf’s frown said everything Varric didn’t want to know. “We need to get her back. I cannot treat these injuries, I lack the skill…” 

“Don’t die, you.” Sera blurted, half command, half plea. “Fix her up, right? Elfy shite magic can…” 

“Here.” Blackwall leaned down low, arms extended. 

“Wait.” Solas ordered. His eyes were glowing, a soft green light flickering. “I can dull the pain, put her to sleep, and remove the blood from her lungs so she doesn’t drown in it. It will make travel easier, the rest…” 

Varric could feel the magic working, Maria’s form melting against his, boneless, finally giving into exhaustion and unconsciousness. Solas pulled his hand back and nodded briskly to Blackwall. “Now.” 

Varric didn’t want to let her go. The last time he let her go she… he bit back the recrimination, reminded himself that the snow was only up to Blackwall’s knees instead of his ass, and the most important thing was to get Maria back to camp before she finished dying on them. He shifted and she slipped out of his arms like water until the human lifted her, gentle as a sleeping child, into the air. Bull peered down into her face, rumbled something Varric couldn’t quite make out. 

“She will be fine.” Cassandra stated firmly. “Andraste is with her.” 

Nobody could ignore the triumphant certainty in the Seeker’s voice. Varric almost bemoaned that Cassandra could come through this with  _ renewed  _ faith in her Maker, in some sort of crazy plan. But Maria Cadash survived the vortex, time travel, a demon, a dragon, and an avalanche. Varric… wasn’t quite sure what to even chalk that up to  _ beyond _ divine intervention. 

“What would be more helpful than Andraste at  _ this _ moment would be modern medicine, a healer, and removing these clothes before she succumbs to frostbite.” Solas remarked dryly. 

“Cold. Bitter. Biting.” Cole murmured. “Endless. Alone at the edge of the abyss. Falling. Frightened.” 

“We’ve got her now, kid.” Varric reassured him as their search party began the perilous trek back. “We’ve got her.” 

“Yes.” Cole agreed fervently. “They tried to burn her. Bury her. But the ashes were warm and the stone belongs to her family’s hearth. He didn’t know she’d rise.” 

* * *

“Get her down.” The doctor ordered tersely. “This damn woman. If she’s not falling out of the bleeding sky, she’s stumbling back with hypothermia and Maker knows how many broken ribs.” 

Blackwall lowered Maria onto the cot with great, tender care. For a perfect moment of stillness, it was just Maria alone on the thin bed like a sacrifice left unattended on an altar. Then both the doctor and healer swarmed over her, checking her pulse, listening to her labored breathing. 

“You’re not going to believe this.” Bea trembled beside Varric, his hand on her arm the only thing restraining her from elbowing both healer and doctor out of the way. She had one fist at her lips, white knuckles pressed to paler lips. “This isn’t her idea of a good time either.” 

“Coulda fooled me.” The doctor huffed, pulling the zipper on the sodden, blood spattered jacket. “I’m gonna need a knife to get these clothes off her. They’re soaking wet.” 

Maria’s head lolled to the side and Cole produced his switchblade nearly immediately. The Elven healer snatched it with a reproachful, wary gaze in the kid’s direction before she began sawing through the thin cotton t-shirt. 

“I do not believe we need an audience for this.” The Seeker said sternly. Varric deigned to ignore her even though he knew the statement was meant for him. “A few of us should stay, but surely…” 

“Ria isn’t modest. Or shy.” Bea muttered, eyes fixed on the pale skin slowly exposed under the tattered shirt, more blue and purple than cream. Varric’s stomach rolled at the mess of bruises and scrapes. 

“Varric.” Cassandra snapped impatiently. “I will not risk your…” 

If she accused him of leering  _ one _ more time he’d…

“But he’s seen her bare.” Cole interrupted, confused. “Warm. Wanting. Willing and wicked and…” 

Well, he could always count on Cole. Bea rolled her eyes and shot Varric a rather reproachful glare, but honestly it was almost worth it to hear the sharp click of Cassandra’s jaw slamming shut. 

“Do hold that thought. I’ll be rather interested in it if she doesn’t choke to death on her own blood.” Dorian shoved past, holding a sturdy pile of fleece blankets. 

“She’s not… she can’t...” Bea’s voice cracked on the words, swinging helplessly around the triage scene unspooling in front of them.

“Not on my watch at any rate. Not after getting us out of that Tevinter shitstorm.” The elf muttered, peeling away the stiff fabric. Her hand glowed as she pressed it to Maria’s skin and paused, seeming to listen to her injuries. “Five fractured ribs of varying severity. At least one punctured her lung.” 

“Sparkler is being unnecessarily dramatic.” Varric soothed with a stern, warning glance leveled at the Tevinter witch’s back. “She’s going to wake up spitting fire, you watch.” 

He didn’t know if he was trying to convince Bea or himself. Maria looked just as small as she had the first time he saw her, unconscious again, although at least she didn’t appear to be flickering in and out of reality itself this time. Back then, he’d felt bad for the poor woman who had been pulled off the mountain and he certainly hadn’t wanted anything to happen to her, but now…

Varric couldn’t bear watching her lay so still as the doctor shouted about lacerations on her head, the healer’s hands glowing blue to stitch up bone and lung. His stomach twisted into anxious knots, thoughts spiraling, conjuring scenarios where she never woke. Where he never held her again, never… 

“Lacerations are minor. Burn on her palm.” The doctor rattled off to the healer. “If you can fix her ribs, it’ll be the hypothermia to worry about next.” 

“Can’t help there.” The Healer muttered as she worked. “Not trained to do anything about that. I could try raising her blood temperature but I’m as likely to cook her…” 

Bea shuddered and the doctor took the switchblade, hacking at the waistband of Maria’s jeans. “I need a warm compress. One of you bleedin’ witches need to heat up some water and shove it in a damn bottle.” 

“No need to be rude.” Dorian huffed. “Vivienne…” 

“I will search for a container, since you are full of hot air darling. See if you can heat those blankets up a bit, hm?” 

“All these clothes need to come off. They’re soaked through.” The doctor pulled the ruined denim away from Maria’s hips, a cruel parody of the way Varric once peeled them off. He shut his eyes for a steadying moment and swallowed against the rising tide of complex, terrifying emotions. 

“There.” The healer said gently. “She’ll be sore for a few days, at least, but she’ll live. Come here, feel.” 

Bea tugged against his iron grip and Varric relaxed his hold enough to let her slip through his fingers. He opened bleary eyes and watched Bea press her palm over her sister’s gently rising and falling abdomen. The terrible rattle had ceased, vanished into the ether. Bea’s shook her head, voice small. “She’s so cold.” 

“Not for long.” The doctor muttered, pulling one of the gently steaming blankets from Dorian’s arms and pinning Varric with his piercing, slightly insane gaze. “You’ll do. Come here.” 

Varric hesitated. Just long enough for a rather large, he’d bet solid money Qunari, arm to shove him forward. Varric scowled back at Bull, but the doctor kept talking, “Body heat to insulate. You’re rather sturdy and you’re not too tall for the cot. Up you get.” 

Oh. Oh  _ shit _ . “What?” He asked, the question semi-strangled, the thought of curling up next to Maria’s solid, albeit frozen, form enough to render him temporarily, and possibly for the first time, speechless. 

“Absolutely not.” Cassandra scowled, flushing pink to the very roots of her hair. “It is inappropriate and scandalous. The Herald…” 

“Right then. She’ll just freeze solid while we argue about propriety.” The doctor declared waspishly. “We can hope holy Andraste thaws her out.” 

“I certainly don’t want to end up on the wrong side of Cassandra’s ire…” Dorian looked entirely too smug for Varric’s comfort level. “But this seems like an excellent idea. Finish unbuttoning that shirt, Varric. Better shuck the pants too, you’ve got snow all over them.” 

“Ugh.” Sera sniffed, turning her face pointedly away. “Not watchin’ this show.” 

“I cannot…” Cassandra’s voice raised, the start of a rather fine shouting match  _ nobody  _ had time for. 

“I’m sorry.” Bea’s voice didn’t rise at all. It stayed perfectly, completely level. The hair on Varric’s neck stood up regardless and he spared a glance for the woman staring Cassandra down with abject fury. “I thought my mother was dead. Please. Continue arguing about the fucking scandal while my sister loses her toes.” 

Cassandra’s mouth moved, but nothing intelligible came out. Satisfied, Bea turned her sharp as knives gaze to him. “Pants off.” 

She’d given a steely command, one that left no room for negotiation. When Varric didn’t quite move fast enough, Bea’s voice dropped even further, to what he suspected was an even more dangerous octave. “I’m not asking again.” 

Varric wasn’t certain she’d actually asked the first time. “Andraste’s ass.” He grumbled, reaching up to begin unbuttoning his shirt, hastily discarding it on a stack of crates. “Can I keep my damn boxers on or are we…” 

Bea promptly made up her mind to ignore him. “Roll her onto her side.” The doctor advised the healer. “Gently. No use jarring that head.” 

“Varric.” Vivienne’s voice trilled from behind him and Varric swore under his breath. “I take it since you’re undressing that means you’ve finally come to your senses about this outfit.” 

“Everyone’s a damn comedian as soon as the dwarf gets naked.” Varric huffed, unbuttoning his pants. “Let me know if any ladies see something they like.” 

In front of him, they shifted Maria’s nearly nude form onto her side, covering her with the first steaming blanket, lifting the barest corner for him to slither in beside her. Somehow, this seemed far more intimate than the fact that his mouth had been slanted over hers, their tongues twisted together, his face between her legs and his hands cupping her gorgeous breasts. Perhaps it was simply the aching vulnerability, the mottled fresh bruises covering all the skin he’d traced and kissed. 

Maybe it was the blissfully empty expression on her face making her look so much younger, the fresh faced girl in her old photos. The one whose life still may have worked out the way she wanted in a better world, a kinder one. 

If she was brave enough to face down a fucking dragon, he could lay beside her, keep her warm. That  _ had _ to be the easier job. He definitely shouldn’t be envying her the heroic showdown with the demon that nearly snatched her away.

As calmly and smoothly as he could, with false confidence born of years hiding inner turmoil, he slipped onto the stiff cot and curled against her while they draped a blanket over them. She was icy, freezing to the touch against his skin. His hissed at the initial contact, but he ignored the discomfort and gently, careful of the newly mended ribs and all the terrifying bruises lining her skin, draped his arm over the dip of her waist. He shifted his hips until they fit snug against hers and slipped one arm slowly under her neck. 

The sharp bite of something ever colder than her skin sent him swearing. He shifted, gingerly withdrawing a tarnished silver chain from the space between them, the glimmering pendants nothing more than bits of ice against his fingers. 

His eyes focused on them with a start, at first in stunned disbelief, then in bewilderment. They weren’t pendants or charms, they were rings, a full damn set of  _ wedding  _ rings. There was a diamond large enough to make any debutante swoon and two plain, serviceable bands, a man’s and a woman’s. 

Bea made a choked gasp, hands freezing in the motion of smoothing the blanket over Maria’s shoulder. “Sodding Ancestors. I thought they’d be gone for sure, I thought…” 

Varric gently slid his fingers along the chain, trying to ignore the sharp burst of curiosity. There was zero chance that Fynn Dunhark  _ legally  _ married Maria Cadash, that information would have been in the court records and media coverage for sure. But… he could see how legalities didn’t matter. Not when you were young, not when the woman you loved agreed to take off from everything she knew and make a new life somewhere else. 

Fynn Dunhark may only have had Maria Cadash for a short period of time before his untimely demise. But, he’d  _ fully _ had his woman, no half-baked life full of lies and secrets. Varric would have sacrificed a lot for that same certainty. 

He’d have taken a bullet too. 

Varric unclasped the necklace with a deft twist of his fingers and deposited the cold chain in Bea’s extended palm. She closed her fingers over them and brought her tight fist to her lips. “I didn’t realize she was wearing them. She’d have been… she’d have been fucking devastated to lose them.” 

The tremor in Bea’s usually nonchalant voice told him that Maria wouldn’t have been the only one distraught. 

“It’s alright Mittens.” Varric angled his form around Maria’s, tipped his forehead against her hair, and closed his eyes. The scent of smoke and iron clung to her, a heady perfume of desperation and sheer, impossible survival. He fought the urge to press his palm more tightly over her abdomen, to drop his lips to her freckled shoulder and kiss each spot with silent, worshipful gratitude. 

To drop even lower and gently press his lips to the interlocking triangles of the carta branded on her shoulder. To make a silent, desperate promise that this time,  _ that _ part of her life was over. There’d be no going back, no matter the cost. Not after… 

But this wasn’t the time, this wasn’t the place. Dorian balanced his warm bottle of water on the opposite side of Maria’s neck and very gently brushed his tanned fingers over her cheek. Varric smoothed away the scowl that twisted his features and the matching possessive lurch in his thoughts. Hopefully before anyone noticed. 

Instead, he splayed his fingers gently over the soft curve of her stomach. He focused on the gentle rise and fall, the ease of her breathing, so unlike the way she’d labored and gasped in his arms. Without much thought, and certainly without attempting to examine his motives, Varric brushed his thumb lightly, repetitively, in a small arc over her cold skin. 

Solas layered another blanket over top of them and looked to the doctor. “You said there was a burn in her palm?” 

“Odd one. Don’t see how she could've done it, but I guess I’ve got to get used to her doing weird shit, don’t I?” 

Bea snorted in abbreviated, but clear, agreement. 

“May I?” Solas asked cautiously. 

“Be my guest.” The doctor muttered. “Not much I can do for it with our general lack of supplies and I’d rather the damn healer deal with her brain than burns.” 

“Just swelling.” The Elven healer’s fingers lingered over Maria’s head, eyes continuing to monitor Bea’s barely concealed anxiety. “Nasty bump, that’s all. She’ll be right as rain, you’ll see.” 

With a mumbled apology, Solas’s hand lifted the blanket. Varric stilled his thumb, watching as Solas gently turned Maria’s palm in his. Varric could see the burn even through the halo of Maria’s hair, perfect and pristine, a spiraling pattern like a rising sun. 

Varric fought back his own shudder. “Chuckles, that’s not an accident.” 

Nothing so beautiful ever was. Solas ran his own fingers over it and frowned tightly. “Unfortunately,” He confessed, “I suspect you are correct.” 

“What is it?” Cassandra asked, peering suspiciously over Solas’s shoulder.

“The mark of the magic she survived in the vortex.” Solas ran his own thumb over her palm. The second he did, the burn illuminated with a dull, gentle flicker. Varric swore he saw flakes of golden light dancing under Maria’s skin through her veins. “That demon pulled it to the surface, perhaps in an attempt to wrench it from her.”

“It looks almost like the symbol of the Chantry.” Cassandra supplied with a rather firm amount of conviction lacing her voice.

She was right, to a point. It was certainly a sun, Varric would give her that, but beyond that Maria's brand bore little resemblance to the great glowing suns of the Chantry. Her’s had delicate, intricate knots laced within it. A pattern within a pattern, looking more like something Daisy would doodle than anything else. 

“A coincidence, nothing more.” Solas curled Maria’s small fingers over the mark like she clasped something precious within it. “It must have caused her great pain to have it brought to the surface like this.” 

He knew. He’d heard her screaming. Unable to help himself, he brushed his thumb over her skin again, an unsaid apology for leaving her at a monster’s mercy. 

“She’s tough.” Bea tightened her grip on the rings on her hand and lifted burning eyes to Solas. “Ria is tougher than anyone I know.” 

Solas smiled, both kind and sad. “Of that, I have little doubt. We would not be here otherwise.” 

* * *

Maria awoke in pieces, not all at once. The first thing she noticed was the searing heat surrounding her, warmth bleeding through every inch of skin except the tip of her nose, which felt frozen solid. The blankets covering her were heavy weights keeping the sweltering heat in. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so warm, so cozy. She considered opening her eyes, but that seemed… too hard. Her head throbbed in warning so she kept them shut, shifting slightly off an aching hip to…

It was that tiny movement that revealed the second, more important thing. Maria Cadash was not alone in this horribly uncomfortable bed. Someone’s heavy arm rested over her bare skin, her wiggling pressed her firmly against a broad, immovable chest, rough hair prickling her skin. She froze, keeping her eyes shut resolutely, trying to make sense of  _ what _ had happened. 

Her first thought, one that nearly had her leaping from the bed, was that she’d fallen asleep in Dwyka’s bed, fallen into this pantomime of intimacy while she’d been asleep. It happened before, and somehow  _ that _ was always worse than laying perfectly still until dawn, waiting for the sun to rise to make her escape. 

But the hand on her stomach was different than Dwyka’s. Undoubtedly Dwarven given the size, but less weather roughened, the callouses in the wrong place, and draped gently over her waist. There was nothing possessive about it, only warm reassurance. 

_ Fynn _ , her gut clenched as his name rattled in her head, but that wasn’t right either. Fynn’s hands had been strong, ages practicing the piano at his mother’s insistence after all, but they’d never grown rough with any kind of manual labor or…

Writing. 

Those were callouses from pen and pencil, she’d developed some of her own during her school days, before she’d decided that fighting and crime left better paying marks instead. 

With that thought, bits and pieces began to drift back. Their desperate kiss in the kitchen. His broad arms effortlessly lifting her off her feet, his mouth…

His  _ amazingly talented  _ mouth. The very thought sent a spike of heat right through her in spite of her aching head and stiff limbs. Somebody  _ must have  _ spiked her drink, because clearly she’d been drunk, she couldn’t even  _ remember  _ the main event. Out of all the terrible things that happened to her, that seemed  _ most _ unfair. If she’d made the critical error of falling into this horribly uncomfortable bed with Varric Tethras, she wanted to at least have the good bits to cling to. 

Why  _ was _ her bed so uncomfortable? Sodding hell, she felt like she was sleeping on a prison cot. She shifted again, as gingerly as she could, brain trying to fire off what exactly to do next. She needed to open her eyes, needed to break this spell, send him packing, and yet…

And yet. 

She was so tired. Her eyelids felt heavy, her limbs leaden. His breath was warm on her shoulder, his forehead tucked against her hair. She was pressed tightly against him and he felt solid against her, a bulwark against the darkness nibbling at the edges of her mind. She’d been so afraid, so alone, and he…

Emotions she didn’t quite understand bubbled to the surface, fear squeezing her throat. It had been so dark and it hurt. She was so confused, her addled mind trying to keep up, and she didn’t… 

_ “I’ve got you.” Varric whispered against her temple. “I’ve got you.”  _

Everything else returned like a punch in the gut. Haven. The templars, the dragon,  _ Corypheus _ . Her march through the snow to her doom. Her eyes flew open, startled, taking in the cold dark night surrounding them. In her line of sight, Bea curled up in a tiny ball, her head resting against Bull’s solid chest. He slept too, leaning on the pole holding this makeshift shelter up, eye closed. One arm wrapped around Bea’s shoulders, the other around Sera’s while she snored lightly. 

Alive. Alive, they were alive and so was she. She closed her eyes again, dizzy with relief. If they were alive, then it would be okay. It had to be. 

She could go back to sleep. It would be so damn easy to. 

Behind her, Varric shifted near imperceptibly and Maria’s breath hitched. Sweet Ancestors, his bare legs were tangled up against hers too and…

Maker. He couldn’t be completely naked, could he? Her mind struggled to process the feel of him, but she was still wearing her damn underwear, the underwire of the bra poking against her uncomfortably to remind her of that fact. He  _ had _ to be wearing his. 

How in the void had this even happened? How had Bea  _ allowed _ this to happen? Her little sister could hardly be called part of the Varric Tethras fan club. 

Boxers or briefs? Maria’s inner voice questioned, off on it’s own little tangent while she struggled to make sense of the crazy series of events that ended up with her snuggled up quite cozily to Varric fucking Tethras. 

She shifted again, pressing back gently. Boxer briefs, she thought. Had to be. She twisted her hips again, just to be sure…

“Princess.” Varric huffed gently in her ear, voice sleep roughened and deliciously husky. He pressed gently on her stomach and stifled a low laugh in her shoulder. “You keep moving like that, I can’t be held liable for what happens next.”

She fought back a delighted shiver without much success. She felt Varric’s response in the loose sweep of his fingers up her abdomen and the slight pull of his hips away from hers. She felt more loss at that than she wanted to admit. And a brief, electric jolt that was only barely smothered by fatigue. 

“Are we safe?” Her own voice came out hoarse. 

“Seems that way. Been a whole twenty four hours since we ran out of Haven, beautiful. No sign of anything chasing our ass. They probably figured we’d starve or freeze to death without them having to lift a finger.” 

Maybe everyone should have to sleep next to Varric, then, because the man was a furnace. She twisted to sit up and winced immediately, every muscle protesting the sudden movement. Her chest ached, her stomach ached, her arms and legs and…

The world tilted, spun, fuzzed a bit at the edges. 

Varric sat up far more successfully than she had, but she still managed to curl to face him. His amber eyes were dark in the weak light flickering around them in the darkness, lanterns and firelight, his glorious chest completely bare. 

_ Touch. _ A part of her commanded greedily. Her hand responded without her permission, lifting into the fraught, tense space between them. This all felt so surreal, part of a dream, and perhaps she hadn’t quite woken… 

“Careful with that one.” Varric’s eyes flicked to the palm of her hand and back to her eyes. “You’ve got some magic stuck in it.” 

Her fingers curled closed, protectively, and she pulled back. Yes. She remembered the sun caught in her palm, her flashlight in the darkness. With her fingers against it, she could feel it there, one more ache among all the others.

He’d burned it into her skin. Seared it to her flesh. Her heartbeat spiked, fear prickled through the exhaustion. “He put it there, he did something to me, he was...” 

There weren't any words. Varric could probably find them, but they escaped her. He’d been like a solid black hole in the universe, like a wound oozing pus and infection, like every nightmare she’d ever had all rolled into one. 

“I know.” Varric whispered, gently placing one of his hands on her shoulder and lightly guiding her back down. “We know. We know who it was. What he is.” 

“What?” She rasped. Varric sighed and made to tuck her smoothly back under the blankets. He was going to get up, going to leave her in the darkness and the cold with nothing but her thoughts and fears, oblivion circling the edges of her vision. The next word fell from her lips before she considered it fully. “Stay.” 

For a split second her words landed into the silence with all the elegance of a ticking time bomb. He stared at her, taken aback by the request she assumed. Certainly unsure how to handle a sick, broken creature clinging to him so selfishly. But she swallowed the tension, quirked her lips into the best smle she could manage. “Keep me warm and tell me a story.” 

_ Please. _ The unsaid word echoed in her chest. 

“It’s a shitty story, Princess.” Varric sighed, but he slipped back beneath the blanket, careful to leave a scant inch of sizzling air between their skin. “But I’ll try. It started with Hawke…” 

Varric spun Reyna Hawke into being as smoothly as if he’d done it a thousand times, conjuring the witch out of the freezing night air so vividly, Maria could see her the way  _ he _ did. This wasn’t a woman lighting her own pyre in the ashes of Redcliffe, crazed and wounded with a manic gleam in her eye. This was a heroine. A champion.  _ Varric’s _ champion. 

He told the story from where he’d entered it. Pulled out of bed by a panicked three in the morning phone call, shambling up to the ritziest areas of Kirkwall. The shattered glass from the broken window, the light from the silent alarm still blinking steadily. The first Hawke sister, bruised and shaken but otherwise unharmed, the second smelling of smoke and charred dwarf while an elf calmly stitched up his own wound. 

Following the Carta to, of all places, an ancient temple hidden in the Vinmarks. A temple that locked them inside and forced them into the Deep Roads before they could escape. Their desperate fight through the things of nightmares, and Hawke’s blood being the only thing that could open the door. 

It unlocked more than that. Much more.

And in spite of herself, as he spun the tale, she ended up closing that distance between their bodies. She wasn’t sure exactly how it happened, it seemed to be a magic of it’s own, magnetism or perhaps gravity. She didn’t press against him, not like she desperately wanted to, but she couldn’t ignore the soft heat leaching from him to her. 

Couldn’t ignore the way his voice lulled her back to sleep. 

“I swear.” Varric murmured softly into her hair. “We killed him, Princess.” 

No they didn’t. But she was too tired to argue. 

“I’m sorry.” She thought he whispered. But it could have been a dream, one she slipped back into effortlessly. 

* * *

The next time she woke up, it was to bitter shouts. There was a weight at the end of the cot, but nobody under the blankets beside her. She was completely, utterly, alone. Clearly, she’d hallucinated Varric Tethras’s gentle arms curling around her, his searing warmth, his muscles and…

She raised her hand to her head, rubbing her face briskly. 

“Ria?” Bea’s voice asked cautiously, breathless with hope. 

“Bea.” She answered groggily, opening her eyes. It wasn’t Bea’s face she met with, but the lined and weary one of Mother Gisele. She swallowed, swinging her eyes down to the bottom of the cot where Bea sat, still as a statue, looking more a mess than she’d ever seen her. Eyeliner smudged, hair askew, lips pale. 

“Are you awake this time?” Bea asked, frozen in place. “Really awake? Varric said you were before but you were out of it still and…” 

“Varric?” Her tongue nearly tripped on the word, a surge of heat rising up her face. “He was here?” 

“They all were.” Gisele soothed. “You are dear to many people, Herald. You’ve had a steady stream of them wishing you well.” 

“What would you have me tell them?!” Cullen’s voice roared. Maria fought back the flinch and pushed herself up, trying to stare into the darkness past Bea. 

“We must find a way!” Cassandra snapped back, a pale figure in the dim firelight. 

“Please!” Jospehine cried out. “We must use reason!”

“Don’t mind them.” Bea dismissed the humans with a wave over her shoulder. “They’ve been at it for hours. How are you feeling? How’s your head? Still remarkably thick?” 

“Shut up.” Maria replied automatically, the banter familiar even as her throat scratched out the words like she hadn’t spoken in ages. “Where are my clothes?” 

“Ruined.” Bea supplied unhelpfully. “But Harding said she had a spare outfit of her own in her camera bag. It’s probably the closest we’ll get to anything fitting you. Hold on, I’ll go find them.” 

As if she’d simply been waiting for something,  _ anything _ , to do, Bea jumped into motion. She fled into the darkness before Maria had time to ask where  _ exactly _ her little sister had gotten the coat she was wearing. The thick, buttery leather was far more familiar than Maria wanted to admit. 

“You need to rest.” Giselle said gently. “There is no need to get up quite yet. After all…”

Giselle tipped her head almost playfully to the heated argument happening just outside between Cassandra, Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen. “It does not appear we’re going anywhere quickly.” 

“We have time to waste?” Maria asked, pushing herself impatiently into a fully seated position despite Gisele’s tutting disapproval. She clutched the blankets tightly around her shoulders and breathed through the ache in her muscles. Bad, yes, but not the worst she’d ever pushed through. 

“Thanks to you, they have the luxury of arguing. You prevented our enemies from following, but with time to doubt… well, it is easy to blame.” 

Bea reappeared, tossing a bundle of clothes on the cot. “Right. So, I’m gonna warn you that you look like a bannana someone’s kicked around, that’s how fucking bruised up you are.” 

“I’m sure I’ve looked worse.” Maria muttered, dropping the blanket and reaching for the sweater. Even in the flickering lantern light, she could see the marks covering her pale flesh. Deep bits of purple and blue, shadows deepening them into black in places. 

“I’m not.” Bea admitted, folding her arms around herself and watching Maria as she struggled to manage the fabric with her stiff limbs. Finally, impatiently, Bea stepped forward and grabbed it, thrusting it over Maria’s head. “Here, before you strangle yourself.” 

“We don’t have that!” Cullen yelled. 

“She is not saying we do!” Leliana snarled back. 

“In-fighting may be as great a danger to us as Corypheus.” Giselle sighed. 

“I don’t know.” Bea sniped under her breath while she gently tugged the sweater over Maria’s battered torso, taking extra care to straighten it and meeting her eyes with a weak grin. “To my knowledge,  _ our _ humans have zero dragons and the demon has one.” 

“Where is it?” Panic clawed at Maria’s throat again. “The dragon and Corypheus, the red templars, where…” 

“Nobody has figured out where the fuck we are.” Bea answered. “Varric can’t get his network up and running for more than ten minutes at a time, although to be fair he’s been snuggling you  _ and _ trying to work for most of the night. For as good as he claims to be at multitasking…” 

There was his name again. And her chance to ask. She plucked the material over Bea’s shoulders pointedly. “What’s this?” 

“It’s mine now.” Bea declared, wicked eyes dancing with relief and mirth. “Jealous, Ria?” 

Gisele cut in with practiced diplomacy. “There has been no sign of Corypheus, his dragon, or the templars. Perhaps he believes you are dead, and thus is satisfied. Or he believes we are helpless and lost.” 

Gisele sighed. “It could even be that he plans another attack as we speak. We do not know the demon’s mind, only our own fears.” 

Maria swung her feet off the cot and pulled the leggings on over her aching limbs as quickly as she could. Jumping from the cot to finish the job was a mistake, the rush of blood to her head making her stumble into Bea. Her sister’s arm wrapped around her waist. “Easy.” Bea whispered. “This was… this was bad, Ria. You really should lay back down.” 

“I’m not gonna sodding sit here and listen to them arguing.” Maria spat between her gritted teeth, fighting the dizziness back where it came from and finishing the job of putting her damn pants on. “This isn’t helping anything.” 

“Another heated voice won’t help.” Gisele advised, a gentle voice laced with steel. “Even yours. Perhaps _ especially _ yours.” 

“I agree. The last thing we need is one of your infamous tantrums, Ria.”

She was going to kill Bea. She glared into her sister’s face, holding onto her and pulling on one of her soggy boots, the only clothing left from her misadventure, it seemed. Gisele picked up where Bea left off. “They are struggling to lead because of what we survivors witnessed.” 

“Well, it can’t be worse than what I saw.” Maria snapped, pulling on the last boot. 

“Don’t you  _ dare. _ ” Bea shoved Maria, hard, back onto the cot. Caught off guard, Maria stumbled back onto the thing. It creaked precariously, but before she could turn her temper on Bea, Maria realized her sister’s face was flushed and splotchy, tears threatening in her eyes. “Don’t you dare.” Bea hissed, diving into Varric’s coat pocket and pulling out something glimmering, shining in the dull light. Instead of handing it to her, Bea threw it. The necklace and her rings landed in Maria’s lap. 

Maria blocked out the human’s arguing and focused on Bea, preparing to argue with her instead. She opened her mouth, but Bea stopped her cold. “I saw you  _ die _ , Ria. I thought I  _ buried _ you just like I buried Nanna, Dad, and Fynn.”

The well of grief under those two sentences stretched endlessly. Bea ripped her eyes away from Maria’s and stared up at the tarp above them, blinking rapidly. Guilt thudded hollowly in Maria’s chest and she curled her fist around the necklace. 

“Bea…” 

“Shut up.” Bea seethed. “Shut up. I thought I lost you, I thought… fuck.”

Bea whirled away and Maria stood, intent on following her. “I need a fucking  _ minute _ .” Bea shouted back, voice thick with unshed tears. “Stay  _ fucking _ put for once in your damn life and give me a second to  _ breathe. _ ” 

Wretched, Maria watched Bea stumble back out into the night. Gisele sighed, watching the slender form vanish. “It is difficult. For all of us, although for her I fear it was far worse. We left our defender behind to save us all… and we lost her.” 

Maria hadn’t been defending anyone. She’d just been trying to survive, blindly acting on gut and instinct. It had been a desperate last stand, nothing more, nothing heroic or courageous. “I wasn’t…” 

Gisele overrode her voice patiently. “And after all hope had fled… she returns. This is miraculous by any standard, and your actions appear more divine intervention than standard heroics. The longer we examine the darkness behind us, the more our trials seem ordained.” 

“That’s crazy.” Maria folded her arms around her aching torso, trying not to shiver. “Nothing about this has  _ anything _ to do with faith or…” 

“It does seem insane, yes?” Gisele asked sweetly, piercing Maria with her dark eyes. “What ‘we’ have been called to ensure? What ‘we’, perhaps, must come to believe?” 

That ‘we’ of Gisele’s was very pointed and Maria wanted  _ nothing _ to do with it. She didn’t believe in their Maker, their Andraste,  _ their _ Herald. Maria never heard the Stone sing or heard whispered guidance from her Ancestors' tombs. The Elven creators apparently abandoned the world long ago, and Maria wouldn’t be surprised if everyone else hadn’t followed suit. They were alone, carving out their destinies with nothing but switchblades and shaking fingers. 

“What  _ ‘we’ _ believe doesn’t matter.” Maria glared, standing from the cot and steadying herself for just a moment. “What we’re about to do is freeze to death if someone can’t get their head out of their ass. I’m not waiting for the Maker to intervene.” 

She turned her back on the infuriating woman and took careful, measured steps to the edge of the tent. Outside her meager shelter, she saw the Inquisition’s leaders surrounding a campfire, all wearing various expressions of distress, their silence simmering with resentment. 

Fuck.  _ Fuck _ . What the  _ fuck _ were they supposed to… 

“Shadows fall…” Gisele’s throaty voice carried from somewhere behind her, loud and clear as a chantry bell on Sunday as she moved to stand beside Maria. “And hope has fled. Steel your heart, the dawn will come…” 

“What are you doing?” Maria hissed under her breath, piercing Gisele with a reproving glare, flinching as the four humans turned to stare. Gisele smiled, mysterious and sly, sailing past Maria without a word of explanation. She continued to sing an old song, a song Maria swore she’d heard in bits and pieces, a Chantry hymn floating out of pretty wooden chapels in Ostwick. “The night is long, and the path is dark… Look to the sky, for one day soon… the dawn will come.” 

Maria gambled semi-professionally and knew she was rather good at it. Still, she’d have never placed money on what happened next in a million years.

It started with Leliana’s clear, bright soprano joining the chorus. Then, Maker’s balls,  _ Cullen _ . Soldiers. Refugees. Chantry sisters. Children and witches and templars,  _ all of them _ . The sound roared louder than the ocean, enough to drown the dragon’s screech still echoing in her head, and they were staring at her like  _ she _ had an answer, like she could do  _ something _ ,  _ anything _ .

Some of them dropped to their knees like she really was an idol carved of stone, an altar to worship at. Her panicked thoughts insisted she should have fled after Bea, but when she looked behind her to see if that escape route was still open, she saw her sister had returned in silence. The slouched form in the darkness, arms crossed, looked torn between amusement and  _ grave _ concern. 

She could almost  _ hear  _ Bea scoffing about humans being outrageous. Maria tightened her grip helplessly on the rings in her fist, wishing for all the world she was somewhere else. Anywhere else. 

The song ended, the night sky hanging onto the last piercing note. Gisele turned her dark eyes back down towards Maria, triumph sparking in them as people cheered. “An army needs more than an enemy.” She declared softly. “It needs a cause.” 

Gisele lifted her hands, prepared to preach a sermon to the masses. “My fellow children of the Maker…” She began fervently. “We have survived the trials put in front of us, endured the terror of…” 

She stared, agog, until she felt the light press of a hand against the small of her back. She looked up to pin Solas with her bewildered gaze.

“A word?” He asked politely.

“Only if it has four letters.” She protested weakly, staring back out in stunned disbelief at the crowd.

“Come.” Solas said gently, guiding her into the shadows. “We have much to discuss.”

* * *

“She’s a wise woman. Worth heeding, at the very least. Her kind understand the moments that unify a cause… or fracture it.” Solas muttered, almost to himself, although Maria understood he was attempting to instruct her.

Maria shivered, although if it was from the cold or existential dread, she couldn’t tell. Solas noticed and extended his palm. A smooth, elegant flick of his wrist summoned a ball of flames, blue and beautiful, in the space between them. Maria stepped closer to the warmth, grateful for it. 

“Can you help me escape her?” Maria asked, only semi-joking. Solas’s fond smile was the only answer before he shook his head.

“The magic Corypheus used against you. The spell that embedded that mark in your hand… It is Elven.” 

Maria lifted her right palm up, still clutching the rings within it. She unfolded her fingers and stared down at the intricate, beautiful sun burned into it. “It looks Elven, I guess.” She muttered, shifting the sparkling rings to reveal the elegant loops. “Not that I’m an expert.” 

“It is the magic that has been inside you since the start, pulled to the surface.” Solas explained clinically. “I assume it is also the magic that created the vortex, the same spell that caused the explosion that destroyed the conclave.” 

And now… now it was inside her. “Fantastic.” She muttered. 

“Do not begrudge it so much.” Solas advised. “I suspect without that magic in your veins, you would have perished then as well. As to how Corypheus survived… that is a mystery.”

Solas sighed and hunched his shoulders, staring down at the snow consideringly. “The only thing that is not a mystery is how people will react when they discover the origin of this magic. Perhaps people will not look past the fact that it is the symbol of the chantry, but there must have been a tool, one he used to harness it, and if it is found…”

“Riots.” Maria sighed. “The elves have it shit enough in all the cities of Thedas.” 

Nanna used to say it could always be worse when they complained about not having enough money to buy nice clothes or go to the movies. They, at least, could afford food and their bills even if they had to work to the bone to do it. The elves… well, there was a reason they were shoved into the alienage projects. Nobody wanted to look at starving children. 

“This is a fucking mess and elves are an easy target.” Maria murmured.

“I agree.” Solas’s voice was laced with approval. He placed a gentle hand on her aching shoulder. “But we can control this narrative.  _ We  _ can tell the story we wish to tell.” 

“Solas.” Maria jerked her chin over her shoulder. “There’s a woman back there preaching a sermon about a  _ dwarven _ criminal with  _ elven _ magic in her hand at the head of a  _ human _ religious movement. I can’t control  _ any  _ of my own story.” 

She hadn’t been able to in years. 

“Corypheus attacking the Inquisition changed it. Changed  _ you _ .” Solas insisted. Maria shivered again, but this time it certainly wasn’t from the cold. “You are their guide.  _ You  _ are their savior.” 

“I’m not.” Maria protested, wrenching away. “I’m not, don’t you dare go human on me, Solas, or I swear…” 

“There is a place in the North. I have seen it in the fade, a place hidden by magic that waits for a force to hold it…” 

“Is there anything  _ useful _ in the fade?” Maria asked skeptically. “Maybe a way to get the network up and running so we can call for help?” 

“Varric Tethras will never get our communications up and running without additional technology.” Solas insisted smoothly. “The witches alone, our power, interfered too much. Perhaps, if we had not found you he could have rigged something together, but the stronger you become, the more you recover…” 

Solas reached for her palm, covered it with his own. “The technology we have with us  _ cannot _ override your magic. Not any longer. I suspect he is beginning to identify the problem as well. If anyone could fix it, I suspect it is Varric, but he cannot do so here.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Maria blurted out. It would have been better, apparently, if she froze to death or simply died in the avalanche. 

“But your magic is, perhaps, the only key to finding our path. Go north, lead them forward. Your magic can unlock our safety, I know it.” Solas pressed. “Only you can do this.” 

“I can’t.” Maria’s voice broke and she shook her head. “Solas, I  _ can’t _ .” 

“You must.” Solas’s lips pressed into a thin line. “But you will not do it alone. We are by your side.” 

“They won’t listen to me.” 

“On the contrary.” Solas smiled, soft and proud. “I believe you are the only one they  _ will  _ listen to.” 

* * *

Three days. They followed Maria through the mountains for three  _ fucking _ days. Varric thought he’d never forgive her for their forced march through miles of snow, directly into the bitter, biting wind of the north. There was, after all, only so much a man would do for a pair of beguiling eyes no matter how sensuous her curves. Varric Tethras had nearly reached his damn limit. 

In fact, he’d had it with Maker damned everything. The network that wouldn’t connect them to the satellite, no matter what he tried. He couldn’t feel his toes. And he was simply sick of the endless, bleak,  _ whiteness _ of it all. 

One more day, he thought darkly, trudging after Maria’s crimson hair. One more blighted day, then he was refusing to go one more step. 

Which, of course, was exactly what he’d said to himself yesterday. 

“Can you all honestly  _ not _ feel that?” Maria asked over her shoulder, perplexed.

“There are lots of things I can’t feel, Princess.” Varric growled. “Would you like an enumerated list?” 

She sent him a withering look. Varric glared back, unimpressed. 

“Darling, all I can feel is that energy coming out of your hand. It’s like standing in the middle of an orchestra.” Vivienne, somehow, still looked elegant in her snug fitted peacoat. The splashes of red templar blood almost formed a chic pattern. She’d be a perfect villain for one of his stories. If he didn’t freeze to death first. 

Maria cautiously approached a cliff. Varric watched, warily, as she danced rather too close to the edge for his taste. If she fell to her death one more time, he wasn’t rescuing her, right hand to Andraste. 

“Please do not fall off that precipice.” Dorian snapped, in tune with his thoughts. “I, for one, do not wish to be the person informing Cullen we allowed you to plummet to your doom.” 

Maria ignored him, reaching out to brush snow from a large stone pillar overlooking the abyss. A matching one, almost like they were man made instead of natural, sat some distance away. Her ineffective swiping revealed something carved into the surface.

“Runes.” Solas smiled down at her, proud as only an old teacher could be. “Well done.” 

But Maria seemed to be entranced by the shapes in the rock. She tipped her head to the side, examining them curiously. She brought her gloved right hand to her mouth and used her teeth to rip off the fleece fabric. Varric caught the slightest flicker of light in her palm before she pressed it to the stone. 

The runes lit up gold, glowing gently, flickering with power. A gust of wind surged past them all, so fierce he temporarily grew concerned it would topple Maria right into the yawning abyss. Instead, it lifted her hair around her face, whipped past them into the chasm, bright lights dancing within it. 

Varric’s breath caught in his throat. The lights seemed to sketch out a bridge, one that turned corporeal before their very eyes. It was made of stone and marble, hanging above the abyss implausibly. The magic picked up speed, circling in clouds in the air, puffs of glitter exploding to reveal walls, towers, trees, gates, all pulled from nothing but thin air. 

“Andraste’s blushing buttcheeks.” Dorian whispered. “Who  _ hid _ this?”

Who wouldn’t? It was something from another age, from a fairy tale, a fortress fit for a queen, pristine and intact, waiting for someone to unveil it, someone to call it back to life. 

Not a queen, a part of him supplied. A princess.  _ His _ princess. 

“Skyhold.” Solas supplied quietly. “Welcome home, Herald.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll never forgive Solas for giving me a castle and then TAKING MY DAMN ARM. I thought we were friends, Solas, I really did.


	35. The Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria Cadash finds a home and a title. She really only wants one of them.   
Varric Tethras helps thrust Maria forward to be Inquisitor and has to live with the guilt and the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready for a shit ton of mutual pining and a magical castle?

Maria stared, breathless, across the stone bridge her hand conjured out of nowhere. The fortress bled into existence, made of nothing but snow and clouds. Glittering magic pulled walls from both mountain and thin air. The stone rearranged itself with a laughing song nobody else but her seemed able to hear. 

Well, Nanna always said the stone sang to the dwarves if they listened. Maria never believed her, but now… 

As she watched, the great gate at the other side of the bridge rose, iron chains clanking and echoing as it lifted slowly. It seemed like a warm, gentle invitation to come inside. To stay. To _ rest_. She could almost feel curled fingers reaching out to her. 

“Great.” Varric muttered under his breath. “Haunted castle in the middle of nowhere. We’re going in there, aren’t we? Fantastic.” 

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Varric?” She asked, daring a smile at him. It felt like the first time she’d smiled in days. A weight lifted from her chest, leaving her lightheaded and almost giddy. She took one trembling, hopeful step onto the bridge, swirling her still bare fingers over the stone walls. She had to be imagining it, but it seemed to greet her with the same joyful anticipation she felt, vibrating under her fingers like a cat who _ finally _ found someone to feed it. 

“In Kirkwall. With my common sense and good winter coat.” Varric surely meant to sound more grumpy, but he barely contained his own smile in return. It warmed her from the inside out like a cup of coffee. Made her think of his arms holding her, his voice conjuring stories out of thin air. 

She tucked that smile away inside her and tried to ignore the greedy clamoring inside her for more.

“There is magic here.” Cassandra’s lanky form melded to Maria’s side, staring up at the glimmering towers in the sun. “More magic than I have ever felt in one place. A building such as this…” 

“It reminds me of the Vyrantium Enchanter’s University.” Dorian, at least, seemed just as eager as she was to explore. “The place had seen so much magic, sometimes it did rather odd things. I knew a Magister who swore up and down she once got lost in the cellar for six months because the hallways kept changing.” 

“Preposterous.” Vivienne sniffed from beside him. “We would never let our circles become so unruly here.” 

“She wants to meet you.” Cole’s slender, bare fingers traced the stone near Maria’s with a tentative, small smile. “She missed the sun. It’s been so long.” 

“She?” Maria questioned, flipping her eyes up to Cole’s. His were nearly hidden under his jagged blonde hair, but warmth danced within them and he smiled sweetly. 

“Skyhold.” He answered. “She was lost, like you.” 

The wind kicked up and stole bits of her hair from the bun she’d knotted it in. She swore she heard something like a giggle hidden within it, vanishing quickly across the bridge, shaking the leaves from the trees outside the walls. 

That left nothing to do but follow the invisible yearning she’d been using as a compass since Solas told her to strike out north. She let her fingers trace the stones, holding her breath as she strode forward. 

_ Hello_, she thought silently. _ Hello, I’m here. I’m listening. _

She felt silly for a moment and silently hoped the blush on her face could be taken for nothing but the cold. Then the wind kissed her cheeks again, a touch as simple and uncomplicated as Bea’s lips on her skin. 

She reminded herself, more sternly, it was her imagination run amok. It had to be. But the stone seemed to tremble under her fingers with the same joyful greeting. Maria thought she could almost hear it.

_ Hello. Welcome home. _

They stepped under the ancient gate and Maria’s eyes landed on the first tree rising just inside it, leaves still unfurling, ripples of magic lacing the air as flowers became fruit, reddened before her very eyes, growing full and heavy in the branches. 

Apples, just like the ones Nanna and Bea cut up to make into pies and dumplings. A quick, hard pang of hunger laced her, mouth watering. Protein bars were fine, she guessed, if the other option was starving, but these… 

They were her favorite. She had no idea how Vivienne could waltz right underneath them without even looking up. 

One of them fell with a gentle plop, rolling on the cobblestones directly to her feet like an offering. Maria crouched, cautiously picking it up and turning the bright red flesh in her hands. She could smell it, the bruised flesh releasing a sweet, tart smell. 

“Do not eat that.” Cassandra directed immediately. Maria frowned and waved the enticing fruit under the human’s nose as she straightened. 

“Seeker, it’s an apple. It smells _ wonderful_.” 

“There’s a fairy story that starts this way.” Dorian remarked idyly. “Enchanted fruit. Endless sleep. Who, pray tell, will play our prince charming if you poison yourself?” 

“Do I get to choose?” Maria asked, only half paying attention, examining the apple more closely. It certainly _ looked _fine. It looked like a normal apple she’d buy from the store. 

“She made it for you because you like them.” Cole insisted quietly. “It’s good.” 

“Oh, and who would you choose?” Dorian asked, the words loaded with hidden meaning. Maria very pointedly didn’t look away from the apple in her hands, the skin so shiny she could almost see herself reflected in it. 

“You, of course.” She answered with feigned nonchalance. Dorian huffed, pleased in spite of himself. It wasn’t the truth, though, and she feared the witch knew it. If Maria got to choose who’d be kissing her… well, the man who slept chastely beside her to warm her frozen, battered body _ certainly _ deserved a reward. Varric Tethras, for all his complaining, had been a solid rock since they’d started moving north. Never far from her side, always easily located in a crowd. They were two moons spinning around each other, caught in their own gravity. 

What was it he said? I’m sick of near misses? Maybe he’d gotten it right. Maybe she… maybe she’d been incorrect. If he wanted her, if he really wanted… 

“Well, I am the obvious… fasta vass!” As he spoke, Maria brought the fruit to her lips and bit into it thoughtfully. Flavor exploded on her tongue, enough to make her moan in sweet, satisfaction. It was by far the best damn apple she’d ever had, made all the sweeter by her diet of cardboard-like rations for the last three days. Juice dribbled down her chin and she hurried to wipe it away, meeting Dorian and Cassandra’s horrified expressions with a wicked, mischievous grin while she chewed and swallowed. She held the bitten fruit up to them. “Just an apple.” 

Cassandra rolled her eyes skyward with a blatant noise of disapproval. 

“If you die, it is completely your fault and I want you to know I will undoubtedly be here saying I told you so.” Dorian crossed his arms and glared down at her, but she could see his lips twitching under his mustache. “Survives time travel, a dragon, an avalanche, dies because she ate a blighted apple.” 

“Would you like one?” She asked sweetly, fluttering her lashes. 

“If you are not dead in thirty minutes, perhaps.” Dorian shook his head and strode off after Vivienne, peering around with a scholar’s delighted gaze. 

She laughed and brought the apple back to her lips, tearing off another chunk of the sweet, white flesh and closing her eyes. It tasted like summer, like innocence, warmth, and safety. It tasted like Nanna’s kitchen and _ home_. 

She opened them again and found that Cassandra too had moved past her into the massive courtyard. Instead of witch or Seeker at her elbow, she was looking into the darkened amber eyes of an author fixed on her lips like he was taking notes. 

She chewed the apple slowly and held the fruit out to Varric instead with an arched eyebrow. He cleared his throat and shook his head, pulled a smirk back to his face. “Sparkler’s right. If you’re still alive in an hour, I’ll give it a shot.” 

“Kind of you all to let me be the test case.” Maria chirped, content enough with the situation. If she died now, at least, it would be with _ real _food in her stomach. 

“Hey, you’re the one who couldn’t wait.” Varric pointed out, letting his eyes roam the walls around them. He didn’t leave her side, even as Cassandra, Dorian, and Vivienne vanished further into the great space, examining what looked to be some sort of stable house. 

Varric ripped his eyes from the walls and back to her, his smile broadening as he caught her examining him. “See something you like, Princess?” He teased smoothly. 

He wanted her body, that much was obvious, but if that was it… if that was all, why did he stay here beside her? Why didn’t he stay back with the others where he wouldn’t have to plunge through snow up to both their asses? 

He wants more, a younger, softer part of her supplied. He _ cares _ about you. 

No he doesn’t, a harsher voice scolded. He _ pities _ you. He’s just here for a story. 

“Trying to decide if I can outrun you when the haunted castle decides it doesn’t like us poking it.” Maria reasoned lightly. “I like my odds, frankly.” 

Solas chuckled from behind them, but it was Cole that broke in, concerned. “No! She’s happy we’re here.” 

Varric frowned. “You know, for a haunted castle in the middle of nowhere, this kind of reminds me of that first Swords and Shields book. The stable right there could be a dead ringer for the one I described in the city keep.” 

He was right. She blinked, taken aback, squinting at it more closely while she chewed another bite of apple. 

“If Miss Cadash read your book, perhaps the magic in this place is rearranging itself to show her what she wishes.” Solas placed his own palm on the apple tree, looking up into its branches sadly. “This is an old place. It has missed the footsteps of people, their laughter as they lived their lives.” 

“I’m sorry.” Maria nearly choked on the mouthful of apple she was chewing. “You’re saying _ I _ made this.” 

“No. She did. For you.” Cole stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“This place has a mind of its own, Miss Cadash. You are the one who awakened it, it is _ you _it wishes to please. Whether it is pulling Varric’s… literature as an inspiration to do so, however, I cannot say for sure.” Solas wrinkled his nose when he said the word literature. It was a testament, she thought, to how shocked both her and Varric were that neither of them objected. 

“How?” Maria asked incredulously.

“For Andraste’s sake, _ why_?” Varric asked instead, abjectly horrified. 

“The mark.” Solas said gently, pointing to the stone high up above them. Maria twirled to follow his pointing finger, eyes landing on the emblazoned sigil of the sun high above their heads, carved into the walls. It matched her hand exactly. “It recognizes your magic.” 

“Oh.” Cole breathed softly, looking up, smiling widely. “Yes. You need to see.” 

“See what?” Maria asked. She barely got the last word out before Cole wrenched her forward, eager as a puppy, grin broad. 

“It’s perfect.” Cole beamed. “A place to keep the darkness out. The nightmares can’t catch you here.” 

Maria sputtered in protest, but Cole didn’t listen. He dragged her up the nearest stone stairs, the apple falling uselessly from Maria’s hand while he tugged her into the body of the castle. She paused, momentarily awestruck, to take in the soaring ceilings, the sun etched within the stained glass. Cole let her gawk for only a second before pulling her further in. She caught sight of both Varric and Solas following them. 

“There’s an awful lot of stairs here.” Varric huffed as Cole threw open the next door, revealing a plain, shadowy staircase spiraling upwards. 

“Yes.” Cole nodded as they piled into the shadowy stairwell. “The stone touches the sky like she does. Like they both do.”

“The stone is quite fine with being on the ground, thank you very…” Varric barely got his foot onto the step behind them before the door slammed shut like an exclamation point. They all turned to stare at it, shocked and in Varric’s case, more than a little dismayed. 

“Great.” He said immediately. “We’re all gonna die here.” 

“I believe that is unlikely.” Solas didn’t quite laugh again, but his lips carried a hint of amusement. “Perhaps the castle does not take kindly to criticism.” 

“She didn’t make it for you.” Cole blurted, shaking his head at Varric pointedly. “It’s for Maria.” 

“What’s for Maria?” She asked, redirecting Cole to whatever it was he wanted to show her. 

Cole beamed in the dim light, hauling her back up the steps with renewed vigor. When they got to the top he dropped her arm and turned to see her face, beaming at her. “This.” 

_ This_. 

Tears came unbidden to her eyes and Maria swallowed them, blinking hard. The room was beautiful, carved of rough hewn stone, covered with sparkling wide windows looking out onto the mountains, stained glass casting bits of jewel-like color all over the floor. A crackling fireplace warmed the whole area, a plush red rug looked soft enough to sleep on. 

An armchair, overstuffed and slightly weathered, sat just beside the fireplace. It was almost _ identical _ to the one from Hercinia, the one she picked out in the thrift shop and helped Fynn carry down the street, laughing the whole time, dizzy with happiness and _ so _full of hope for their future. A quilt was slung over the arm of it, just like the one from Nanna’s house before it grew too old and careworn for use, the one Bea used to wrap herself up in as a child. 

The comforter on the low, dwarven bed was the same color blue as the one in her childhood bedroom. A desk in the corner had a neat stack of books with familiar covers, the Hard in Hightown series. Varric scoffed and made his way over to them, picking one up and examining it critically.

Maria couldn’t focus on him though, because to her left, next to the stairwell banister, a piano sat proudly. It looked like a piano that could sit in most schools, neglected by all but enthusiastic music instructors. It was in much better shape than the one she’d bought used in Hercinia, though, all gleaming mahogany and elegant lines. The bench was tucked neatly underneath it, the cover closed, hiding the keys. Maria exhaled a shaky breath when she approached it, half convinced she was dreaming. 

There was an arrow. An arrow inscribed on the cover, a match for the one on her wrist. It had her initials on the top and Fynn’s…

One hand grabbed the necklace under her shirt, but the other swept trembling fingers over the carving. From beneath the cover, she swore she heard one trembling note, a key pressed with uncertainty, a question hovering in the air. 

_ Is this okay? Do you like it? _

“Why?” She gasped, turning to Solas, wiping her hand across her eyes to hide the tears. She couldn’t conceal her bewilderment. “Why is it like this? Why…” 

“Because you have brought it back to life.” Solas smiled weakly. “I suspect it is grateful. Perhaps a bit exuberantly so.” 

“She saw you.” Cole answered simply. “And she knows what you are. What you can be.” 

* * *

They couldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Or in this case, a gift castle. 

Skyhold threw it’s gates open like it had been waiting for Maria Cadash all her life and it seemed determined to furnish nearly everything they could possibly need. The castle sprouted an infirmary for the sick with rudimentary medical supplies. Food appeared hidden deep beneath the quaint, medieval kitchen, haunches of smoked bacon, frozen beef and chicken, flour, eggs, even barrels of cider. Enough to feed a small army, although cooking it in the great fireplace initially proved an adventure. Cots and beds lined formerly empty rooms, complete with blankets and small plush animals for even smaller hands. Fires lit themselves. Banners featuring Andraste’s flaming eye appeared with no warning. They found clean clothes in armoires and chests, soap in closets. Anything they needed or wanted just… appeared. Like magic. 

But, perhaps the most fascinating thing, was that Skyhold _ learned_.

The first night was so dark, even with flickering torches studding the walls, that Varric spent most of the second day helping to set up the portable generator they carried out of Haven. It was enough to power some flood lights in the courtyard and prevent them all from falling down the damnable steps to their doom at night. Particularly with all the kids they had running around. Although, mysteriously, there hadn’t been so much as a scraped knee with any of the children. 

Varric _ never _ thought Skyhold would look at their flimsy generator, scoff, and decide it could do better. He nearly pissed himself when he woke up the next morning to find the whole castle wired from top to bottom, lights in every room. Cullen damn near lost his mind when that happened. Varric spent most of the third day following Curly through the bowels of the castle as the man swore up and down he’d find the castle’s power source. 

Curly would be sorely disappointed. Whatever secrets Skyhold kept, it wasn’t sharing. But the more they settled, the more alive it seemed to be. Varric swore new rooms popped up daily. The more complicated, nuanced, and scarce medical supplies they’d brought seemed to replace themselves. Flowers sprung up in the courtyard and the weather, although it couldn’t be called warm, never grew bitterly cold inside the walls. The kitchen managed to spring some nearly modern appliances, although they still looked more at home in a dated restaurant than a place that had to serve two hundred people, and plumbing showed up immediately after Maria wished for it longingly.

But it was Maria Cadash that blossomed more than anything else.

She danced through Skyhold in a blur of crimson and gold. She sparkled in the winter sun and their universe revolved around her. Everything glowed under her tender care, from the injured soldiers to the children stumbling through the courtyard, coming alive, reaching towards her sunlight. 

And when she smiled… _ Andraste _ when she smiled. 

He wondered how close he’d come to never seeing it again. He wanted nothing more than to spend some solid hours basking in it. See if Skyhold couldn’t conjure up a pack of cards, take her off to some shadowy corner, and reassure himself that she _ really _ was as okay as she looked. 

But that was just his flimsy excuse and he knew it. What he wanted, what he desired more than anything, wasn’t to lure her into a friendly game of cards. Fuck, it wasn’t even to sweet talk her into the nearest bed so he could finish what he’d started now that they weren’t currently in danger of dying in a dragon’s throat. 

He wanted something altogether more precious. He wanted her the way she’d been in the tent the night she stumbled back into his arms. He wanted her without all that armor she carried, soft and sweet in his arms. He wanted her lashes fluttering against her cheekbones as she failed miserably to stay awake listening to, frankly, one of his most shitty stories. He carried that memory of her sleep warmed, sharp edges smoothed by exhaustion, clutched it to his chest jealousy. 

He wanted to press his lips surreptitiously to her cheek one more time and whisper his apologies into her ear. He wanted to hear her ask him to stay again. Wanted that sharp lance of vulnerability, the one that broke right through all his defenses and left him more naked that he’d ever been. 

_ Stay. _

Ancestors, if she’d ask _ anything _ in that tone of voice, he’d do it. He stayed even after she’d fallen back asleep. His palm over the small of his back, her body curled against his, her marked hand on his chest where she hadn’t even realized it had fallen. He counted the freckles on her nose, her cheeks. Memorized the sweep of her lashes and the gentle rise and fall of her breath. He stayed until Bea stirred and asked if she’d woken, but tearing himself away… shit, it’d been harder than it should have been. 

But it wasn’t real. She’d been broken, bleeding, battered. Confused and addled. Exhausted to her very bones from attempting to slay an _ actual _ dragon. She’d have asked anyone to stay. He wasn’t special. Not to her. How could he be? 

She was the sun, after all, and she shined on everyone equally. It hurt to admit it, but Varric could handle painful truths. Maker knew he had practice. When she didn’t seek him out, when she poured her energy into Skyhold, he fell back, easy and casual, and watched her. 

He still had a place here, after all. Once they knew the truth… well. He may have to live outside her orbit. But at least she was alive. At least he had that memory of her sleeping in his arms. That was enough. It _ had _to be. 

Of course, he was assuming he’d figured out _ how _ to get them connected back to the civilized world long enough to reveal his own secrets. Between Maria’s magic hand, a score of witches, and the damn castle itself the magical interference was mind boggling. He _ needed _to call Hawke, needed her help, but reaching her… it seemed impossible. 

“I think that concludes the distribution of sleeping quarters for the civilians and refugees.” Josephine clucked, pulling him from his daydreams. “Was there any other business?”

“One, yeah?” Sera yawned and glared at the other woman. “Why do we all gotta keep coming to these meetings?” 

Varric stifled his amused laugh into his palm. Sera did about as well as anticipated during these meetings. Meaning, of course, that she’d already drawn some rather colorful pornography all over Bull’s muscled arm after Maria stopped her from carving it into the stone rather emphatically. 

Their group sat in an airy room around a massive table that looked to be made of one solid piece of wood. This, Varric thought with no small degree of amusement, was the best of the Inquisition.They ranged from a Tevinter exile to a raving spirit turned boy. Grey Warden to exotic dancer. The Inquisition’s inner circle. A mad little bunch of religious and distinctly irreligious figures. Who’d have thought? If the late Divine could see them now, she’d probably lose her exuberant hat when her head exploded. 

In the window seat, Bea made a muted noise of agreement. Maria had her hands in her sister’s hair and smirked while she shook her head in playful exasperation. Bea’s curls looked sleek and shiny again, makeup perfectly applied. Skyhold must have been supplying that shit too. 

He couldn’t complain, though. He’d opened a cupboard their second day here and had a razor chucked at his face. Maria, of course, said he was exaggerating about the velocity. But he knew what happened and so did the damn castle. 

“There is… one other matter we need to address.” Cassandra straightened from where she bent over the table, sweeping her gaze across the room. “We do not have a leader.” 

“Wait.” Maria stopped and pierced Cassandra with her gaze, then looked past her to Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine. “I thought you four _ were _the leaders.”

“We need _ a _leader.” Leliana insisted smoothly. “One person who wields the ultimate authority in precarious situations. An Inquisitor for our Inquisition.” 

“How do you propose choosing this leader?” Blackwall asked gruffly. “Should we collect resumes? Interview the candidates?” 

“A vote.” Bull suggested, far too casually, flexing the arm Sera was drawing on. It made the mermaid she’d drawn look like her tits were bouncing. “Nice and democratic.” 

“From everyone?” Vivienne asked pointedly. “My dear, some of the refugees are so frightened they barely know their own names. Let alone ours.” 

“Pft, nobody is votin’ for you.” Sera grumbled. “Little people don’t like shite like you. They know the good names.” 

They knew one name, at least. All those refugees knew one name _ very _ well. 

“So we vote?” Maria asked skeptically, tearing him from his overwhelming feeling of dread. “For everyone?” 

“We’ll ask the people if they accept it.” Cullen fingered his gun thoughtfully, peering at Maria with a tight frown like his thoughts had gone the same way as Varric’s. “If they say no - we devise another plan.” 

“Alright then.” Maria sighed. Bea was beginning to look a bit nervous, shifting to eye her sister from the corner of her eye. 

“I don’t want to vote.” Bea said quickly, shying away. “I don’t actually do anything.” 

“That’s most untrue.” Josephine reproved, looking up and frowning. “You have been…” 

“I’m not voting.” Bea's tone brooked no argument. Josephine frowned, opened her mouth as if to insist, but Leliana cut in. 

“One abstention, then. It will go with the majority, if that is alright Beatrix?” 

“That’s fine.” Bea curled her knees up to her chest and frowned. 

In the heavy silence, Varric reached for the battered journal in his pocket. The Lovers stuck out like a bookmark and he flipped past it without thinking too hard, grabbing three sheets and ripping them out. He began to tear them into tiny slips. “Anyone got a pen?”

Sera ceased detailing the engorged male genitalia on Bull’s bicep and lifted her pen with a sharp grin. Cassandra plucked it from her hand and Varric passed around the papers. Everyone took only a second to dash a name on their slip, folding it in half and tossing it onto the great table. 

“What is with you?” Maria asked as Bea brought her manicured nails to her lips like she’d start chewing them at any second.

Maria, it seemed, was blissfully unaware of where this was going. Bea, of course, was not. Bea heard the way people talked about Maria, knew what they said. And Bea couldn’t vote _ against _ her sister, but she couldn’t vote _ for _ her either. 

The pen came to him and Varric scrawled one word on it before tossing it to Blackwall. Bea couldn’t force herself to do it, but Varric had to. 

_ Princess. _

Maria may never forgive him, but it _ had _ to be her. She was _ sane_, she was _ brave_. More than all of that, however, she was so overwhelmingly _ kind. _If it wasn’t her, if it came to someone else… Maker forbid, the Seeker… 

Maria’s vote joined the others and they all stared, at a loss for what to do next. It was Cullen that reached forward and picked up the first one. He unfolded it and cleared his throat before reading it into the silence. “M Cadash.” 

Maria snorted in disbelief. Cullen picked up the second one and read it aloud as well. “Maria.” 

Maria’s amusement dropped like a ton of bricks by the time Cullen read the fourth. When Cullen stumbled on the word Princess, cheeks flushing, the lights above them flickered menacingly. Varric couldn’t meet her eyes, even though he felt them searing into him. 

In the end, every single vote said Maria except one, solitary piece of paper that had Leliana’s name dashed across it. The silence felt miserably heavy and in the window seat Bea finally sighed her sister’s name. “Ria…” 

“Fuck _ all _of you.” Maria snapped, folding her arms across her chest. A snarky part of him almost said that he’d heard worse plans. Almost. 

“Interesting diplomatic strategy.” Bull leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest to match her posture and waited. Maria’s sparking eyes turned to him. 

“Fuck _ you _ in particular.” Maria seethed with a rather ferocious glare. To his credit, Bull did not immediately burst into flames. Lesser men probably would have. Varric felt his chest hair curling and smoking just being in the general vicinity. 

“You’ve been calling the shots since you stepped out of the vortex and all these people know it, Boss.” Bull rumbled with an easy shrug. 

“I’m not qualified.” Maria spat out.

“Where does one get qualifications to fight pure evil and save the world?” Dorian asked, stroking his mustache. “I _ certainly _ never saw it listed as a major.” 

“Enough.” Cassandra glared at Dorian and turned her attention to Maria. “The Inquisition needs an Inquisitor. It is _ your _ choices that have gotten us to this point. There is no better person to take the mantle.” 

“We’re in a magic castle in the middle of nowhere and _ nobody _ knows we’re alive.” Maria hissed. “Is this really the track record you want?” 

“We’re alive.” Cullen stated in a rather matter-of-fact tone, but he wasn’t brave enough to meet Maria’s eyes. “And we should not be. That, in and of itself, is enough reason to trust you.” 

“I can’t do this.” Maria insisted. Varric watched her right hand trace her left wrist, finally recognizing the gesture for what it was, a way to soothe panic. The realization hit him like a punch in the gut. 

“You can.” Leliana said softly. “We will help.” 

“We need to ask _ everyone _ to vote.” Maria lifted her chin defiantly.

“That’s… going to go the same exact way.” Bea whispered from the window seat, staring despondently at the papers. Maria whirled on her sister and pointed at the table like Bea could offer more of an explanation. 

“What do you think of this?” Maria demanded. 

“Ria…” Bea sighed, rubbing her face with her hand briskly. 

“The glass throws rainbows over my skin. The walls. I giggle. Nanna’s fingers lift it high, stands on tiptoes to put it on the shelf. ‘This is where we put precious things, chi shugra. Up high so nobody breaks them.’ _ Safe_. Safe where he can’t touch her ever again.” Cole mumbled. 

“Balls.” Bea groaned. 

Maria’s expression slammed shut beneath a veneer of ice worse than the flickering flames of her fury. She drew her shoulders back and glared at Bea before twisting away. She nearly shoved Cullen over to get past him to the door, but it swung open before she even reached it. The moment she passed through the threshold, the castle slammed it shut behind her back. 

“Balls.” Bea mumbled again, hiding her face in her hands. “For _ fucks _sake Cole.” 

“She wanted to know. You wouldn’t tell her.” Cole frowned down at his hands. 

“For a damn good reason!” Bea exploded. 

“She _ needed _ to know.” Cole insisted. “Or it would’ve been a knot.” 

Bea couldn’t pass up the opportunity to keep Maria safe. Bea couldn’t shove her sister’s name forward for a job that seemed impossible. Varric got it, he really did. 

He wished there was someone else to choose. Anyone else. But there wasn’t. Ancestors forgive them for doing this to her, because it would probably kill her. Like it nearly killed Hawke. 

“Does anyone want to take bets on whether the castle just locked us in here?” He asked wearily instead. It seemed easier than facing his own guilt. 

* * *

_ Soft, gentle fingers smoothed Maria’s hair back, a simple repetitive motion as a clear, bright voice sang beside her. The melody ached inside Maria’s chest as the fingers continued their patient stroking. “Down in the mines, the mines so low. Hang your head over, hear the song low. Hear the song low, dear, hear the song low…” _

_ “I can’t do this.” Maria whispered, tucking her chin in and looking over her shoulder at the woman peering down at her with such gentle, honest affection. Gray eyes and honey brown hair, a woman with Bea’s elegant features. _

_ “You’ve already come so far, my darling.” She smiled, resting her palm on Maria’s cheek. “It will be okay. I’m here now.” _

_ “You’re gone.” Maria barely remembered her, but this serene image of her pulled from old photographs looked right. “Mom’s gone.” _

_ “Yes.” The woman tapped her fingertips against Maria’s nose, bright and playful, eyes sparkling with mischievous humor. “But I am not. You are mine and I am yours, darling.” _

Maria awoke to a gentle breeze on her face, invisible fingers playing in her hair. She lifted her head off the pillow and paused, momentarily disoriented, pleasantly dazed. It took a moment to remember where she was every time she awoke, usually at the crack of dawn. _ Skyhold_. 

Safe. She’d been plagued with nightmares after Haven, but here, they ceased. Here…

Well, nothing was easy. She still wore her fear like a collar around her neck. Sometimes, the scent of a fire in the hearth was enough to choke her with panic. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes at night, she pictured Redcliffe crawling with monsters, the behemoth crushing Bea beneath it or Varric bleeding at her feet. 

But it was nicer to live with when she woke in the beautiful room at the top of the tower wrapped in an old quilt that smelled like home, somehow. The terror felt more manageable here. 

She noted the sun wasn’t coming in the windows right for dawn, but rather the light faded with dusk. Drool and bits of hair stuck to her cheeks. Tears, she thought ruefully. She wondered how fucking awful she looked. A mess, she was sure. 

“Cadash?” Cassandra’s brisk voice called from the bottom of her stairs. “Cadash, are you up there?” 

“Where the fuck else would I be?” Maria called back down the steps, quickly scrubbing her eyes with the back of her fist. Flakes of eyeliner came off on the back of her palm and she swore, irritated. 

“May I come upstairs?” Cassandra yelled again, cautious and wary. Maria paused, discarding the quilt from over her shoulders and flying into the adjoining room. The taps had changed again, she noted distantly. This was the one part of her room that kept changing like Skyhold hadn’t quite determined what kind of bathroom she wanted. At first, it held one ornate washbasin. Then, thank the Stone, it implemented plumbing. The sink was granite today, a matching tub behind her. She turned the warm water on and scrubbed at her ruined makeup. 

“If you insist.” Maria grumbled, hopefully loud enough to be heard. She examined her reflection in the mirror with a tight, tense frown. 

_ Inquisitor. _

Not if she had anything to say about it. 

She brushed a towel across her face and stepped back out into her bedroom to find Cassandra standing, uncertain, by the stairwell. The Seeker’s eyes never stopped roaming, always looking for threats. Once she’d inspected every nook and cranny and found them free of danger, she turned to Maria. 

“We attempted to visit you earlier.” 

“Who’s we?” Maria asked nonchalantly, sitting on the edge of her bed and folding her arms under her chest, examining her booted feet. 

“All of us in turn. The door would not open.” Cassandra made a small noise of dismay. “Solas says there is a… spirit guardian of this place. It answers to you.” 

“No it doesn’t.” Maria scoffed and rolled her eyes. “If it did - you’d still be locked out.” 

“If it answers to you, even slightly, then that is all the more reason for you to bear the title of Inquisitor. We have the walls to put up a fight if we are attacked again, a place to grow our forces, and Cullen is adamant there would be no retreat. This… war with Corypheus is not the fight we anticipated.” 

“It’s not one I bleeding signed up for.” Maria reminded her pointedly. She hadn’t signed up for _ any _ of this. She was supposed to close the vortex and leave, free and clear, Bea and Cole in tow. 

Cassandra sighed and shook her head. “I know. You… you have asked for none of this. The power inside you… it allowed you to survive the destruction of the conclave. It is something this Corypheus wished to have, and whether or not it is divine providence that you have it now…” 

Maria scoffed again and Cassandra met her skeptical gaze. “It matters not to you, I know. The most important thing is that Haven _ cannot _ happen again. The most important thing is that we keep this power from him.” 

“He said he couldn’t take it. It’s useless to him, so I need to die.” Maria pointed out bluntly. “That’s it. My magic hand doesn’t qualify me to be in charge.” 

“Your mark has power.” Cassandra lowered her shoulders and eyed Maria with a certain mix of apprehension and… respect. “But it is not why you are still standing here.”

She was standing here because of a mine shaft and an unbelievable stroke of luck, but before she could say that, Cassandra plowed on. “Your decisions helped us heal the rift in the world. Your _ determination _ led us out of Haven. You are the only one to rival this demon because _ you _ are the only one who has faced him and shown the bravery and sacrifice needed to save us. To save us all.” 

“I didn’t…” Maria protested. 

“I was there.” Cassandra snapped before Maria could finish, running fingers through her short hair. “I know what I saw when I left you. I saw one woman wreathed in flames standing against the darkness and chaos. I saw _ you. _ We all did.” 

A dismayed bubble of laughter jumped to her throat. “Ancestors, Cassandra. That’s fucking good. Don’t repeat it around Varric, he’ll steal it for his next book.” 

Cassandra’s disgusted noise rang across the room, but she jerked her head to the balcony. “Word has leaked that you were asked to lead. I suspect Vivienne, although I have no proof. The people are outside, waiting to congratulate you.” 

“Tell them I said no.” Maria commanded weakly. “Tell them everything you said about me at the beginning. I’m a smuggler, I’m a criminal, I’m…” 

“Stop.” Cassandra pleaded. “I… I would not say those things about you.” 

“They’re true.” Maria argued. “You’ve said them before, just go out there…” 

“I should not have!” Cassandra exploded, curling her hands into fists. “If I had known, if I had trusted in the Maker that he would not… but I didn’t. And I was cruel. I will never be able to make amends for it.” 

The silence stretched between them. Maria stared at the woman, confused, a bit alarmed. “Cassandra, just tell them I don’t want it. Do that and we’re square, promise.” 

“I can.” Cassandra clenched her jaw tightly. “I will, if that is truly what you wish. But I have a better proposition.” 

“If this is about faith…” Maria began to roll her eyes skyward. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t listen to Cassandra preach about Andraste or the Maker. If she started, Maria swore...

“My faith.” Cassandra admitted. “Which is not yours. What is yours… What could be yours is a force that would change the world. People are hungry, homeless…” 

“You’re making a great case for the world being a piece of shit, Cass. Preaching to the choir.” Maria mumbled, dropping her eyes back to her boots. “Nobody is going to follow me. You’re all…” 

“Those people owe their lives to you. They would follow you to the gates of the black city.” Cassandra declared proudly. “If you do not believe me you need only go and peer out. They are _ thrilled _that you would be their Inquisitor.” 

“And you?” Maria challenged, glaring at Cassandra. “You _ really _ think this is a good idea?” 

“It terrifies me.” Cassandra admitted quietly, voice soft and startlingly vulnerable. “To hand over such power to one person. But I have faith in what I have seen you do. If it must be anyone, it _ must _ be you.” 

Maria pulled her eyes from Cassandra’s again and stared at her domed ceiling, blinking back tears. Cassandra let the silence weigh heavily between them before she sighed. “If I could not convince you with that, I was supposed to add in one more thing. On your sister’s behalf.” 

“Great.” Maria huffed. “Wonderful. What does Bea _ possibly _have to add?” 

Cassandra waited until Maria looked at her again, then held Maria’s gaze unflinchingly and said the words that shot a bullet right through Maria’s heart. “I was supposed to ask what Fynn Dunhark would have you do.” 

Fynn. _ Fynn_. Earnest and brilliant, his shirtsleeves rolled up, elbow on their kitchen table. Expounding on the flaws of capitalism, railing against injustice, pouring his father’s money into charities and whispering against her skin how someone like _ her _ should be the one taking the lead, that _ she’d _ get things done because _ she _ was terrifying and _ adorable _ when she was angry and _ Ancestors _he loved her… 

He loved her. He loved her and it got him killed. Maria nearly fell back, grief like a sucker punch in her stomach. It should have been Fynn. He could have done this, he could have carried this _ well_. Her father could have. Anyone _ except _ her. 

“I’m going to fuck this up.” Maria admitted. “I’ve always fucked everything up, Cassandra.” 

Every single thing. From not taking her father’s downward spiral seriously, to her failure to save their grandmother, running away with Fynn. From losing Varric in Redcliffe to _ nearly _ losing everyone in Haven. Maria rubbed her face with her hands briskly again, the marked one prickling uncomfortably. 

“Well.” The Seeker chewed her words for a moment before she gave Maria a weary half smile. “If we truly do awfully, we will all be dead regardless. Cold comfort, perhaps, but at least we won’t have to live with it.” 

The humor surprised her and a broken laugh slipped past Maria’s lips. “Ancestors, that’s morbid.” 

“I will be with you.” Cassandra swore like some overzealous knight in a fairy tale. The Seeker thrust her hand forward, fiercely determined. “You will not do this alone.” 

Maria ran her thumb up and down her left wrist, tracing the arrow there. She promised. She _ promised _ Fynn when they left Ostwick together that she’d stay on the straight and narrow, that she’d do better. She’d be better. She’d be the woman he thought she could be. No more darkness, no more shadows, no more lying or stealing or… 

“I’m not the Herald of Andraste.” Maria blurted. “I’m _ not _ and we can’t _ say _ I am. If that’s why you want me to be the Inquisitor…” 

“Some people will say it, regardless.” Cassandra frowned. “But we do not have to do so here, if that is your caveat.” 

Maria nodded, stopped stroking her tattoo and looked down into her palm. The sun emblazoned there flickered gently. 

“The motto of the old Inquisition was ‘Into darkness, unafraid’, Cadash.” Cassandra supplied. “Perhaps you could keep it. Perhaps you could make your own.” 

No more darkness, not anymore. She held the sun in her hand, after all. Maria took a deep breath and stood, grasping Cassandra’s hand securely within her own. 

The taller woman relaxed immediately, sighing deeply. “They are waiting. Outside. If you can…” 

“Now?” She asked, running a hand through her frazzled hair. She looked like shit, although she supposed she had looked worse half dead and frozen. 

“Before you reconsider.” Cassandra stated firmly. “Persuading people to do difficult things is… not my strong suit.” 

Fair enough. Maria nodded and jerked her chin to the stairs. “After you then, Cass.” 

Cassandra nodded and marched down the stairs. Maria took one last deep breath and followed, trailing her hand across the piano’s cover as she passed it. Tears pricked her eyes and she stopped, choking them down. She splayed her palm over top Fynn’s initials and pressed until she felt her marked palm ache, until bits of light shimmered between the gaps of her fingers. 

“I’ll try.” She promised to the silence. For Fynn. For Nanna and her father, Bea and Bull. For Cole, Varric, Dorian, Cassandra… 

Underneath the cover, the keys trembled again, a half note like a whispered answer. 

_ That’s enough_.

* * *

Varric's thoughts drifted, again, to Bianca. He’d give his weight in gold to have her staring down this problem. Somehow, he suspected, it would have been solved days ago. Instead, Varric kept banging his head against the issue, quickly losing patience.

Skyhold could give them anything they wanted, apparently, except the fucking internet or a phone signal. No matter how he tried, a connection to the outside world remained out of reach. He almost suspected the castle was doing it just because _ he _was the one asking for it. He even stooped to asking Cole to try and convey what they wanted because the kid seemed to be able to communicate with the damned place, but all it had done was confuse them both and give Varric a raging migraine. 

Bianca would have known what to do. She’d laugh, shake her head at his elementary attempts, and…

“Alright Varric, what’s the issue?” 

Cue the wave of guilt, although which woman was the wronged party, Varric couldn’t say. He’d as much as told Bianca it was over right before they marched into Redcliffe, before trying to jump Maria’s bones, so… 

Yes, he reminded himself acidly, because he’d never said goodbye to Bianca before. 

“Well, your Inquisitorialness.” He lapsed into smooth bravado, rocking back on his heels and studiously not meeting the gray eyes he could feel searing into the back of his skull. “Your castle doesn’t believe in wireless connections, wireless networks, or 5g no matter how much I try and talk it up. So, I guess maybe we should consider carrier pigeons.” 

“I never cared for birds much.” The wind whistling through the ancient battlement muffled her footsteps, so he was shocked when she dropped down beside him to examine the mess of salvaged guts he had spilled out in front of him. Bits of radios. A battered old laptop. “What do you need?”

“The modern world.” Varric grumbled, trying not to inhale her scent too greedily. He realized with a start they were _ alone _ on this far corner of Skyhold’s walls. It was the first time he’d been alone with her since… 

“Varric.” She chided softly. He sighed in irritation and tore his hand through his own hair, glaring down at the parts on the ground. 

“A receiving dish for the satellite.” Varric rubbed at his stubble and stood, turning his back on the mess behind him and offering his hand to Maria. She took it and pulled herself up, staring up into his face with a tiny frown. 

Her eyes were the same color as the sky above them, a soft gray right before snow fell. Her freckles stood out starkly over her cheeks, wisps of red hair tickling her jaw. She still slouched when she stood, hands shoved deep in her coat pockets, eyes blazing forward. If the mantle she’d adopted at their insistence felt too heavy to bear, she didn’t show it. 

“A receiving dish?” She questioned. “Does it look like a satellite, but down here?” 

“You’ve got it, Princess.” He tipped his lips into a smile for her. “To catch the signal and amplify it.” 

“What are they made of?” She asked. “How big does it have to be?” 

He shot her a skeptical glance and shrugged ruefully. “Metal, usually something lightweight. I’d want it hooked up to the power grid here, if we could swing it. Boost our signal a bit more. As to how big… in this case, bigger is better. About the size of a pickup truck.” 

“You’re not asking for much.” Maria’s lips twitched. Varric fought the urge to touch the corner of them, trace their shape with his thumb. 

“What can I say?” Varric grinned, trying to maintain his tenuous control. “I’m a man of simple tastes. Now, of course, if I could get a phone call out, I’d order you the perfect one. Just right for someone of Inquisitorial standing. Have it delivered and installed free of charge.” 

Maria sighed and looked out over the mountains. Something in his chest squeezed uncomfortably. “Hey.” He soothed softly, dropping the playfulness for comfort immediately. “It’s gonna be alright. We’ll figure it out.”

When she didn’t look back at him, his arm acted on it’s own accord. He gently placed his palm over her shoulder and squeezed. Varric lowered his voice to a gentle whisper. “Now that we have a minute to breathe…” 

“Varric, listen…” She began, tensing under his palm. 

“How are you holding up?” He finished. Whatever she’d been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. Her eyes flicked to his, stunned, before they quickly swivelled back out into the mountains. Not before Varric saw the shine of emotions in them, the fear, the panic. 

“Well.” She managed to sound breezy in spite of all of it. “I’m heading a human religious organization, retrofitting a fairy tale castle, trying to figure out how to kill a demon and his pet dragon _ before _ he kills us, and we all almost died this week. Twice.” 

She controlled the emotions in her eyes and turned a weak smile back up to him. “I don’t have any idea what I’m doing.” 

Her admission, quiet and soft, felt precious. He hadn’t heard her complain since she’d waltzed out past them, a queen before her subjects, to receive their acclamation. The praise came easily. “Well, whatever you’re doing, you’re doing it really well. Nobody could manage it better.” 

She scoffed and looked down at her scuffed boots, shrugging his hand from her shoulder. “We haven’t been alone, Varric. _ Really _alone. Not since…” 

Not since she fell into his arms. Not since he carried her up the stairs, not since he undressed her and prepared to worship at the altar of her body. It hadn’t been that long ago. Less than a week, really, but it felt like a lifetime ago. 

He’d seen an enemy he unleashed rise again. Heard Maria’s agonized screams, watched the mountain bury her and tried to live in a world she no longer inhabited. He’d seen her rise from the ashes like a phoenix, inexplicable and miraculous. He felt… he felt like it had changed him. Somehow. He wasn’t sure if it was for the better. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been this frightened before. Never faced anything so daunting. Corypheus. The Inquisition. Maria’s shining eyes and compassionate heart sacrificed for expediency’s sake. 

Things had been simpler, before. Maria watched his face closely, frowning at whatever she saw there. When she opened her mouth again, the words that fell from her lips stung bitterly. “It was just a couple kisses, we can forget about it... if that’s what you want.” 

No he couldn’t. Never. Not in a hundred years. He’d take the feel of her body under his to his grave, the last desperate meeting of lips in Haven to the stone itself. It wouldn’t matter if that’s what he _ actually _ wanted, because he’d never be able to do it. She was beneath his skin now, regardless, and what he wanted… 

Maria’s right hand traced the tattoo under her left sleeve and Varric nearly choked on a surge of blinding, unreasonable jealousy. Fynn Dunhark was _ dead_, Maria Cadash was _ alive_. And Varric…

Varric didn’t deserve her. Other people did. Better people. People who didn’t trade in secrets and lies. People whose friends didn’t destroy entire cities. People who didn’t let monsters out into the world to kill hundreds. People who didn’t put _ her _in danger. 

But…

“Hey.” Varric murmured, fought the urge to run his thumb over her cheek. He had to try. He _ had _ to, or he’d never forgive himself. “I’ll be whatever you need, Princess. Whatever gets you through this.” 

Whatever keeps you safe. Whatever makes you happy. Whatever you need. Varric, of course, _ wanted _her to need him. Wanted it so desperately he could hardly breath around it. 

Maria looked away again, back to the mountains. He saw them shining, brilliant and white, in her eyes. He watched something slam shut inside them, watched her throw away a key. His heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. “You’ve been a good friend, Varric. I don’t want to lose that.” 

She wouldn’t be his, then. Another woman just beyond his reach, too good for him, too brilliant. Varric burned his fingers on the sun, again. But that wasn’t Maria’s fault. She, at least, wasn’t asking him to play second fiddle to someone else. She owed him nothing, anyway, and he… he owed her so much more. “You won’t. Promise.” 

He could grab her, crowd her against the castle wall, kiss her until she didn’t know up or down. He could chase all those thoughts out of her head. He could contrive… But it wouldn’t be real. It wouldn’t be what he wanted. 

The tension still simmered between them, but it would get better with time. It had to, anyway. He turned from the mountains, bracing himself to make some excuse about returning to work. The words shriveled and died on his tongue as he looked at what had appeared on the tower above them. 

A satellite receiver as large as a Maker-damned pickup truck made of the shiniest metal he’d ever seen, looking like it had been there for ages. It almost seemed like the castle’s middle finger aimed squarely in his direction. 

“Holy shit.” He muttered, half laughing in shock. “Look at that.” 

“Maybe she just needed you to be a little clearer about what you wanted.” Maria advised, voice cold, the tone completely unfamiliar to him. “Will this get our communications up and running?” 

Varric wondered if she’d already begun the process of becoming two different people. The same way he’d watched Hawke become the Champion when the world demanded it. Varric distinctly felt like the pale eyes watching him didn’t belong to _ his _ Princess any longer, but a woman isolated on top of a burning pyre. 

But then again, she wasn’t his. No part of her was. He wondered how many times he’d have to remind himself before it sunk in. 

“Yes.” The word felt like a nail in a coffin. Ending their precious moment of intimacy, extinguishing any chance to plead his case. “I promise. Can I borrow your phone, Inquisitor? It’ll go quicker, yours is the only other one with enough processing power…” 

She produced it with razor sharp efficiency, dropping it into his hand. “I’ve got to go check on the wounded. Let me know if you need anything else.” 

You, he thought wildly. The thought was barely formed before she was already halfway down the battlements, red hair vanishing down a set of steps. The wind blew sharper, colder without her and Varric shivered. 

He stared down at the phone in his hand and retrieved his own, placing them both in his pocket. He needed to climb up that damn tower to get a closer look at that dish, and he had a sneaky suspicion he was going to have to figure out some way to adjust it’s trajectory, but… it would work. It would work, and he could call Hawke and…

Fuck. _ Fuck_. 

He knew what he had to do. Knew what he needed to do. He couldn’t live with himself if anything happened to Maria, couldn’t stomach the guilt. They _ needed _Hawke. Hawke, who’d given so much already and gotten so little in return. Just like Maria would, someday. He could already see the writing on the wall. 

Anything they could do to protect her. Anything _ he _ could do. 

“Bianca.” Varric muttered. 

“I am already experiencing a weak link with the satellite, but more stable than we have experienced in days. My estimate is the receiving dish needs adjusted to approximately a ninety-five degree angle...” 

Excellent. He’d be climbing out a window trying not to fall to his death for sure. “Great. While I’m trying to manage that, I need you to airdrop a copy of your program onto Maria Cadash’s phone.” 

“Inadvisable.” Bianca argued immediately, joyful tone vanishing. “Every additional user is a security risk. Maria Cadash has an extensive criminal history and you have only been acquainted…” 

Varric laughed. “I know. I want you to do it anyway, baby.”

Varric could almost hear the muted rebellion in his earpiece. “Should I make a note to inform Bianca Davri of the additional user?” 

“Absolutely not.” The real Bianca never checked the AI’s permissions. Only used her, really, when she needed the extra processing power. Otherwise, they just got in each other’s way. “Give Cadash the same permissions Hawke has.” 

“Hawke has permissions just short of a system administrator…” 

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.” Varric shoved the door to the tower open and looked up at all the stairs, dismayed.

“File transfer started.” Bianca finally responded, voice clipped and tone short. “Is there anything else?” 

“Let me know the second I’ve got a strong enough signal to make a call.” Varric sighed. “There’s one I probably should have made a long time ago.” 

* * *

In the fade, Solas found that Skyhold hadn’t changed at all from the palace he remembered. Gone were the Inquisitor’s sturdy stone walls, replaced with graceful, smooth marble. The hallways framed courtyards overflowing with vines and flowers. Magic orbs lit the courtyards and gleaming precious stones shimmered in mosaics and portraits. 

In the fade, perhaps, he could still call Skyhold the name _ he _ had given it long ago. Tarasyl'an Te'las, the place where the sky was held back. He paused in the flowering courtyard and inhaled the blooms that faded so long ago. 

“On dhea'lam.” A soft voice called from behind him. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it?” 

“Longer than I wished.” Solas admitted, turning to face the spirit who’d sought him out. She wore another face, one he didn’t know, but one he recognized regardless. The woman shared the Inquisitor’s striking eyes, her sister’s brown hair. The crooked tip of her lips that both women wore so well. 

“Her mother?” He guessed softly. 

“Yes.” The spirit paused, tipped her head to the side as if listening to a whisper in the wind. “She left this world some time ago. This is how she is remembered.” 

“It is not the form you took for me when I was a young man.” He would not be jealous, however. Not when Maria Cadash had so few comforts on her hard journey. If the face of her mother was one… 

“When you were a young man, you left me to start a revolution.” The spirit chided. Solas shut his eyes and turned his face to the warm sun. 

“Did you find what you wished, da fenlin?” The spirit asked. “When my little wolf grew teeth and claws, did the whole world tremble?” 

“I am surprised you recognized me.” Solas didn’t wish to look into those stunning gray eyes, even if they were not framed by the Inquisitor’s red hair. He kept his own firmly closed. 

“I did not. Not at first. I only knew your magic, I only knew it was no longer a part of you. I could see nothing past her when she arrived.” The spirit smiled, gentle and proud. “Da’lath’in. What is it you call her again? I do not understand it.” 

“Inquisitor.” Solas explained. “It is what the shemlen call her, the title that gives her power.” 

“Da’lath’in suits her better.” The spirit protested. 

Da’lath’in. Little heart. Yes, Solas could see that. A woman who carried her heart on her sleeve, who showed compassion for the smallest and most helpless. 

“You have seen inside her soul, yes?” Solas asked. He feared the answer, but he had to know. “Was she… has the magic changed her?” 

“You wish to know her secrets when you will not give her yours?” The spirit asked, incredulous. 

“Yes.” He answered with conviction. “I must.” 

The spirit sighed, her breath rustling the blooms and trees. “Yes. And no. Your magic will give her strength and courage, but she has her ancestors’ spirit. She comes from warriors, she comes from the Earth. She has always been a soul that would bleed for others. It is in her nature. You know this.” 

He did. He felt the oft-broken bones under her skin and allowed his magic to probe the shattered, raw pieces of her soul. He watched her feed the hungry, clothe the poor. He saw her rise from the ashes. 

“If she is true, you are wrong.” The spirit murmured. 

“Perhaps.” He admitted. 

“Will you harm her? Or will you help her?” The spirit asked. 

Solas opened his eyes and looked down into the spirit’s open, grave face. 

“You would stop me.” He marveled. 

“She is mine and I am hers.” The spirit’s eyes crackled with bright energy. “As you know, Fen’Harel.” 

“I do not know if Fen’Harel exists any longer.” Solas sighed. “This is not his world.” 

The spirit softened. A small hand rested on his elbow, just as it had so often in times long past. Solas ached with the pain of it. His friend, his home, sleeping just as he had. Alone in the darkness, watching as time left them both behind. 

“Fen’Harel lit the world on fire.” The spirit said softly. “Perhaps it is Solas who must try to find beauty in the ashes.” 

“Is there any beauty left in the world of metal and machines?” Solas asked, unable to keep the bitter venom from rising to the surface. 

“How could you ask that?” The spirit tightened her grip on him, voice imploring. “Have you not seen them? Heard the laughter of their children? Listened to their prayers? How can you be so blind?” 

The silence over both of them was not as comfortable as it once had been, but it still felt more like home than it had a right to. 

“Will you tell her?” Solas finally asked. “My secrets, old friend. Will you confide them to the Inquisitor?” 

The spirit sighed once more. “No, da fenlin. I will not. She would not understand, and I know you wish to right this mistake of yours. But you _ must _not harm her.” 

“I will not.” Solas swore.

Not if he could help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every man in this story is an idiot. I'm sorry.


	36. The Missteps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyhold is a big place, with plenty of ways for Maria Cadash to avoid Varric Tethras.  
When they finally do come face-to-face, it's full of missteps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These idiots. I love them, I really do.

Well, Maria thought to herself, she’d been a semi-decent Inquisitor for approximately seventy-two hours. In all honesty, a better run that she expected to have before she finally ran into the one thing she could not do. 

That one thing was reading a fucking speech. 

She buried her face in her hands, ignoring the scattered notecards all over the floor, the ones _ she’d _ thrown there in a fit of pique. She couldn’t meet Josephine’s anxious gaze one more time, but she felt it on her shoulders anyway. The silence hung over them like miasma, poison she was going to choke on. 

“Alright, Inquisitor.” Harding kept her voice carefully light. “Maybe we need to try something a bit different.” 

Maria looked up, spearing Harding with a glance she hoped conveyed her complete exasperation with the entire situation. She’d had it with the camera pointed at her damn face, the notecards containing Josephine’s carefully chosen words, and Harding’s disappointed little wrinkling her brow. She felt like screaming.

Instead, Maria sighed and bent down, sweeping most of the cards back into her hand, shuffling them back into order without thought. She stared at the neat, precise handwriting until her eyes ached. The words flowed when she read them in her mind, but the second she tried to push them into the air, they turned to lead weights and awkward silences. 

“Let me see those.” Harding plucked the cards from her hand and frowned at them. 

“Perhaps I should rewrite it. Again.” Josephine stepped forward over Maria’s shoulder. “Allow me…” 

Maria wasn’t certain that rewriting the speech she was supposed to be giving would help any more the third time around. She’d still be nothing more than a wooden puppet, dull and lifeless, stumbling over the simplest words, unable to look at the camera without turning red and stuttering. 

“Good idea! I’ve got a better one.” Harding grinned and held Maria’s gaze before tossing the cards over her shoulder where they fell like a deck of cards, scattering in all directions. Maria huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. 

“Does that mean we give up and I can go do something productive?” Maria asked. She had a little under a thousand things on her to-do list. Re-establishing connection with the outside world came with a cost, after all. 

It turned out, everyone thought they were ghosts. Orlais and Ferelden had rescue teams scouring the area, the meager forces either country could spare with Ferelden trying to clean up from the witch rebellion and Orlais in full scale civil war. The would-be rescuers were more than a little confused to discover that so many people had escaped Haven, found a magical fortress, and flourished in the aftermath. 

But it was Maria’s continued, implausible, survival that _ really _ astounded the world. Unfortunately, she was trending across all the social media channels. Again. Harding’s footage of the avalanche that buried Maria had gone viral almost immediately. Memorials sprung up in the most unlikely places, from Denerim’s chantry to the docks at Ostwick. Josephine released a statement, but it became increasingly clear it wouldn’t sate the appetite of Thedas. They wanted Maria, more than just the photographs of her greeting the rescue teams. More than the stolen video clips of her wandering Skyhold carrying supplies. They clamored for her to speak, to tell her story, to shine her attention on _ them _. 

Maria didn’t really think even her sputtering on camera would be enough. She worried the world wouldn’t be happy until it swallowed her whole, honestly. 

“No more reading off these cards.” Harding stated, fiddling with her camera for a moment before putting it back on it’s tripod and dragging her chair over to Maria’s. Harding sat down and leaned forward, lightly placing her fingertips on the back of Maria’s palm. “To be honest, you suck at it. _ A lot _.” 

“The honesty I need to hear.” Maria joked weakly, sagging back in her chair. “Tell Josie to give it up.” 

“Inquisitor…” Josephine sighed. Harding shook her head and smiled apologetically. 

“Sorry, we’ve got to try one more thing before you’re off the hook.” Harding tapped her finger lightly on Maria’s skin. “Tell me what happened.” 

“Fuck, Harding.” Maria raised her marked hand to her forehead and rubbed away the impending headache. “You were there. You _ know _ what happened.” 

“I know.” Harding said softly. Maria fixed her gaze on Harding’s and watched as the woman swallowed some great emotion, a shudder passing through her. “Hard to talk about, isn’t it? I swear every time I try to remember, I can _ hear _ the people we lost screaming. Smell the smoke.” 

Maria gulped down her own panic, the fear that she’d look up and see the dragon’s wings darkening the sky through the pretty windows. She sounded like she was begging, but she didn’t care. “Harding…”

“What happened first?” Harding pressed softly. “I was back with Varric, I couldn’t see. I heard the gunshots, they said you were on the frontline.” 

She’d been. With Solas, then Bull. The girl who died beside her, choking on her own blood. Maria never even knew her name. They’d lost so many people, and Maria never knew _ any _ of their names. She flicked her eyes to the camera and Harding squeezed her hand. 

“Don’t look at it.” Harding directed. “Look at me.” 

If she looked at Harding, she may cry. She blinked several times, trying to bring her expression under control. The silence stretched on until Maria let out a long, heavy breath. “The Templars came in armoured SUVs. We barely had any warning, so we erected barriers out of anything we could get our hands on. They’d been poisoned by the red lyrium, like we saw on the news in Kirkwall with the Knight Commander, but there were so many of them. They didn’t care if we shot them, they kept coming out of the darkness like a nightmare.” 

“But the Inquisition had explosives.” Harding supplied softly. Maria nodded, focusing on Harding’s hand on hers. 

“Yes.” Maria’s voice sounded a bit more sure. If she ignored the camera, ignored Josephine’s silent presence, and just focused on Harding it was easier. “Yes. They’d been left there. The Inquisition requisitioned your drone to deliver the explosives…” 

Harding gently prodded Maria through most of it, but the words flowed when she spoke. The templars. The dragon. Corypheus. The avalanche. One rolled into the other, but by the time they got to Skyhold, Maria felt raw, scraped clean on the inside. Harding pulled back, looked at Josephine expectantly. 

“We will need to edit it for length and clarity.” Josephine nodded, all business, but Maria saw her hands shaking as she typed something into her tablet. “But…. forgive me.” 

Josephine wiped her face briskly with her sleeve, shooting Maria a watery, wan smile. “I was not prepared to be so moved. I will remember that you should not be scripted. For the future.” 

“Well, Inquisitor.” Harding smiled, tears in her own eyes as well that she dabbed away. “How was that interview you said you’d never give me?” 

Maria laughed, the sound relieved and choked. “Maker.” She wheezed. “Did you get me saying that on camera the first time? If so, you should tack it onto the end.” 

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Harding stood, extending her hand to Maria. “Not bad, Inquisitor. Not bad at all.” 

“I try.” Maria reached automatically for her phone in her pocket, frowning at the ever present notifications while she allowed Harding to hoist her up. She skipped the emails, those she needed to pick through at night when she wouldn’t be interrupted and they wouldn’t keep multiplying on her. The text messages usually were more urgent.

Usually being the key word. The first one, of course, was from Sera. It consisted of a string of nonsensical emojis (fried shrimp? Who actually used the fried shrimp?) plus a blurry photo that could have been Cullen’s desk chair on top of one of the turrets. She sent a simple thumbs up and moved to the next one. 

Varric. _ Again. _She opened up the message, hunching her shoulders defensively as Hading and Josephine talked over her, to read the string of messages. 

> Varric: Let me know if you get this. I made another minor adjustment.  
Maria: Stop fucking with it before you fall off the walls. We don’t have health insurance here.  
Varric: Let me guess, no worker’s comp either?  
Maria: Negative on the workers comp. We may have beer, though.  
Varric: That’s the best medicine. Hey, do you have a minute?  
Maria: Also negative. Cullen wants me to meet his senior officers and introduce myself properly.  
Varric: Right, when you have a second.  
Maria: Sure.  
Varric: How about now?  
Maria: Leliana’s explaining Orlais to me.  
Varric: Right. Let me know if you figure it out.   
Varric: Later tonight?  
Maria: I can’t, I’m going over supply manifests with Josephine.  
Maria: Maybe tomorrow.  
Varric: So, it’s tomorrow. Just in case you haven’t noticed.  
Maria: I’ve been told. I’m sorry, I’m swamped. I’ve got a speech to memorize and give for Harding and Josephine.  
Varric: Alright, Princess. I’ll stop bothering you - come by when you can.  
Varric: And in case nobody told you yet today, you’re knocking this Inquisitor thing out of the park. Best inquisitoning I’ve ever seen by far. 

Fuck. _ Fuck. _ Why was this so _ fucking _ hard? Three days of messages, three days of ducking around Varric wherever and whenever she saw him. Three days nursing her bruised ego and railing against her own stupidity for believing for even a moment Varric fucking Tethras _ truly _… 

He’d be what she needed, if she asked, because he was kind, because he felt bad for her, because she wasn’t bad to look at. But she could never be what _ he _ actually wanted, and that… that stung. That stung far more than she could deal with just now on top of everything else. She certainly couldn’t spend time in his orbit, smelling his cologne, listening to his sinfully rich voice, waiting for his smiles and his laugh. 

But she couldn’t ignore him either. She _ couldn’t. _

> Maria: Wait until you see whatever just happened on TV later then decide my prowess. 

As she typed the message, another one popped in. She swiped to view it and fought back a smirk. 

> Dorian: Fasta vass, come here.   
Maria: Where are you?  
Dorian: Follow the sound of wailing and gnashing of teeth. 

What did she do to deserve Dorian Pavus’s histrionics today? Maria simply pulled up the group chat, typing one simple question into it. 

> Maria: Anyone point me to our favorite neighborhood magister?  
Dorian: I am not a Magister, you heathen.  
Bull: Have you tried following the trail of spilled wine?  
Sera: or smell of hair wax  
Vivienne: Second floor rotunda, darling. You can’t miss his ostentatious shirt.  
Maria: Thanks Viv. 

She slipped her phone back in her pocket and frowned at Josephine. “I’ve got to go.” 

“I will email you the final footage for your approval.” Josephine declared smoothly, making a note in her tablet. Harding simply saluted lazily. 

“Don’t.” Maria groaned, making a bee-line for the door. “I’m not going to watch it anyway. Just… whatever works. Do that.” 

She fled before Josephine could argue, flying through the crowd in the great hall before anyone could stop and catch her attention. She found that speed was the key for moving across Skyhold, because if she slowed down for even a moment, she got roped into a hundred different projects of varying degrees of importance. She slipped into the rotunda and turned toward the stairs…

“Inquisitor.” Solas called. “A moment?” 

Well, at least it was just Solas. She paused and turned to look at him. The elf was studying the blank wall in front of him, frowning thoughtfully. “What’s up?” 

“I find the act of painting meditative and I wish to design some murals for this room. I asked Skyhold, but I believe the spirit wishes you to make the final determination.” Solas turned his back on the wall and pierced her with his gaze. “Would you like to see some sketches before I proceed?” 

“You can paint?” She asked instead, curious. Solas simply smiled. 

“I can.” He admitted. “I think I do so rather well. One of my few true talents.” 

Sera could draw too, although she sincerely hoped Solas’s paintings were much less provocative. Sera’s most detailed sketches seemed to feature big breasted women in various states of undress. Maria wondered, momentarily, if it was an elf thing. Then, she internally winced and scolded herself for being a bit racist. 

“Yeah, sure. I don’t need to see them. This is kinda your office, isn’t it?” Maria waved at the room, empty of all but a neat little couch and a tidy desk littered with papers. “Whatever you want to do.” 

“A dangerous offer.” Solas smiled warmly down at her. “I shall try not to abuse the privilege. I thought, perhaps, to create a visual history of the Inquisition? The destruction of the conclave, the Inquisition’s formation, recruiting the witches at Redcliffe and…” 

“Haven.” Maria whispered softly. _ Haven. _ She ached with it’s loss and all the fallen they’d left, so raw and fresh again after the interview. She feared she would carry it with her the rest of her life like a scar on her heart. 

“Haven.” Solas repeated. “It weighs on you. I am sorry.” 

“I think we’re all still reeling.” Maria tried to make her tone light, shrugging. “How did you ask Skyhold? About the murals? Varric keeps trying to talk to her through Cole but I don’t think it’s going well.” 

“It is not, but Varric is a child of the stone. He does not understand such things.” Solas muttered, examining the walls.

Maria flinched just a bit. Well, maybe she should have asked about the painting skills being an elf thing then. If ‘children of the stone’ was getting thrown about so casually, it certainly would have put him in his place. 

“I want to understand.” She insisted instead. “You know about spirits. _ You _ said some of them were your friends. Can you… can you introduce me? Is that how it works?” 

“You wish to learn? About spirits and the fade?” Solas asked, incredulity lacing his voice, piercing her with his eyes. 

“Yes.” Maria answered sternly, lifting her chin. “You’re the expert. I can clearly do… something with this mark on my hand. Teach me about the fade before I shoot myself in the foot.” 

Solas continued to look down at her, blinking slowly, before he shook his head. “You are full of constant surprises.” 

It wasn’t a no. Maria smirked. “So… you will?” 

“Cadash!” Dorian shouted from above them. “I can hear you distinctly _ not _ making your way up here. Solas can wait his blighted turn.” 

“If you wish.” Solas smiled, hesitant. “But Dorian is right. We will do so at another time.” 

“Great.” Maria grinned, waved her hand at the walls. “Have fun. _ Don’t _ let Sera help.” 

With that parting bit of advice, she sauntered to the stairs, leaving Solas to his quiet contemplation. She made sure to take her time, lingering an extra second before emerging onto the next floor.

Which… had sprung bookshelves. Apparently. She blinked, looking around, taking in the rows of empty shelving. Dorian stood in one of the new alcoves, scowling and tapping his fingers on the wood. “Was putting me on blast in the group chat strictly necessary?” He asked grimly.

“Next time, you’ll answer my question instead of being so dramatic.” Maria tipped her head to the side, examining his tailored black shirt with the intricate silver embroidery over the shoulders. “I don’t think that shirt is so bad at all.” 

“Because you have proper taste.” Dorian sniffed. “You also have an empty library.” 

“Odd.” Maria agreed, tracing the nearest plush armchair with her fingers, taking in the rich velvet upholstery. “Wasn’t this Cullen’s office yesterday?” 

“That’s over on the battlements now, under his bedroom. Frankly, I think he’s happier.” Dorian waved Cullen’s migrating office away dismissively. “This lackluster excuse for an archive is outrageous. And Fiona will not see reason.” 

Maria finally noticed the other figure on the floor, the elf glaring holes into Dorian’s back. Fiona stepped forward, pleading. “Inquisitor, you must understand, I cannot simply agree to hand over our history for the perusal of…” 

“Ethnocentrism at it’s finest!” Dorian sniffed. “She’s concerned I’ll find something useful _ her _ people missed.” 

“His people tried to enslave us!” Fiona lifted her chin, icy and regal. “I will not…” 

“Dorian did an awful lot to prevent that from happening.” Maria wouldn’t sit here and just… let Dorian be slandered. Not when he was the only one who _ knew _ what Fiona’s idiocy nearly cost them. “What’s the issue?” 

“All the knowledge of the southern circles is sitting, abandoned, in their shoddy little prisons.” Dorian pointedly didn’t look at Fiona, but stared imploringly at Maria instead. “It should be here where it can be studied, where perhaps we can use what we find. Even Madame de Fer agrees, but unfortunately Fiona is rather distraught that my grubby little Tevene hands will be all over it.” 

“Those tomes are quite valuable!” Fiona insisted. “They must be left in…” 

“The circles you ran out of?” Maria broke in, raising an eyebrow. 

“Until they can be collected by the witches and catalogued appropriately…” Fiona persisted. 

Maria fought the urge to roll her eyes and balled her hands into fists, hunching her shoulders. She bit out the words like bullets. “Grand Enchanter, your witches joined the Inquisition because it wasn’t a very good idea to keep going it alone. May I remind you, now is probably an even shittier time to strike out solo.”

Fiona bristled. “Are you saying we would no longer be welcome if…” 

Balls. Who the fuck had time for this? Maria rubbed her forehead, attempting to soothe the headache returning with a vengeance. She lowered her voice to a steely command. “I’m _ saying _ that maybe you should remember you are part of a team and act accordingly. Which includes treating _ everyone _ here with the same respect you _ insist _ on receiving.” 

Fiona set her jaw and looked like she had every intention of continuing to argue, so Maria turned to Dorian instead. “I’ll get Cullen to see if we can spare some people once we’ve got a clear path in and out of Skyhold.” 

Maria paused, shooting a disdainful look back at the elf. “Unless that’s going to be a problem, Fiona?” 

“Of course not. Inquisitor.” Maria could feel the acid on the other woman’s tongue. “I hope this decision proves wise and that you are not judged harshly on your… trusting nature.” 

With that, the woman rotated robotically on her heel. She reached the nearest door and pushed it. The door remained resolutely shut even as she struggled. It finally fell open only once she pressed her entire weight into it, leaving Fiona scrambling in a rather undignified manner to regain her balance. Maria heard Vivienne’s voice drifting from the other room before Fiona slammed the door shut behind her. “Careful, darling. A fall at your age would be disastrous.” 

Maria barely covered her laugh with her hand, immediately looking up to see Dorian not even bothering to hide his smug satisfaction as he spoke. “Well. That felt rather vindicating, didn’t it?” 

“Is that why you wanted me? To make her give you books for our new library?” Maria asked, trailing after Dorian as he settled into one of the plush chairs at a rather sturdy table. “I’m guessing we can’t just order the ones you want online and have them shipped?” 

“If only. Although I do wish to place an order for some items from my homeland. Nothing illegal to get southern panties in a twist, I promise, just some charts. I confess I’m not entirely certain what our address is, however. Not to mention whether or not we’re eligible for two-day shipping.” Dorian’s fingers continued to tap, anxiously, on the wooden surface of the table. Maria wrapped her arms around her waist and waited. “You know. Corypheus claims to be Tevinter himself. A Magister, in fact.” 

“He didn’t look human to me.” Maria replied, shrugging. “He looked like a demon. Don’t demons lie? A lot?” 

“Perhaps.” Dorian mused. “They say the blight is punishment for the sins of our Magisters who dared to walk in the realm of the Maker.” 

“They’re also rather convinced I’m the Herald of Andraste.” Maria shrugged her shoulders a second time. Humans were strange. Fuck if she knew what the truth was behind Corypheus. Honestly, she didn’t see how it mattered one way or the other. 

“Not Andrastian, I take it?” Dorian teased, but the longer she listened, the more she heard something wrong under his light tone. He continued talking regardless, the words meaningless. “Not that I blame you. Boring stuff. I was raised Andrastian, of course, but I’m afraid that I’ve been lying about attending services to my eternally disappointed mother for…” 

“Dorian.” Maria interrupted. “What’s wrong?” 

Dorian’s fingers lost their rhythm, the incessant tapping ceasing while his dark eyes bored into hers. “You’re rather observant today.” 

“Survival instinct.” Maria claimed. One she’d finely honed. “Don’t change the subject. What’s happened?” 

If it was bad news, Maria wasn’t sure she could handle any more. Dorian simply sighed, slumping in his chair. He was silent for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “I received word from a few of my remaining friends back in Minrathous. Do you remember Felix?”

How could she forget Felix? Their, admittedly few, interactions were branded in her mind. Him stumbling against her, him pleading with his father, the ghoul with the unseeing eyes and Leliana’s arm around his neck…

“I never asked...” Guilt churned in her stomach. She hadn’t asked, she’d fled and let the Inquisition deal with it because she’d been choking on Varric’s blood and Hawke’s inferno. She’d been a weak, spineless thing good for nothing but being led back to Haven by her nose. 

She couldn’t. She couldn’t do that again. She was the Inquisitor now and she _ had _ to deal. She choked down the memories and took a deep breath, clenching her hands into fists until her nails cut into her skin, the pain a stark reminder of where she was, whose eyes were staring at her. “I never asked how he was. What happened to him and…” 

And his father. The man who would have killed them all.

“You were exhausted and there was no need for you to manage the fallout after… after everything.” Dorian frowned. “It was my mess to clean up, after all. We packed them on their plane and sent them back to Tevinter. Alexius was arrested as soon as he stepped foot in Minrathous on the King of Ferelden’s insistence, although I’m sure he’ll be quietly released once it’s diplomatically safe to do so. Felix…” 

Dorian’s voice grew hoarse with emotion, his eyes dropping to his hands. “I’m afraid Felix has passed. He pulled a thousand strings to get in front of the Senate, to deliver a rousing speech denouncing the Venatori cult and warning the Magisterium, and… then I suppose he laid down his sword.” 

Maria felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving them both floundering as Dorian struggled to bear the grief written all over his face. Maria’s numb lips asked the question before her brain could process it. “He was sick?” 

“The blight. He was on a research expedition with his mother into the abandoned Deep Roads. She… she passed several months ago. Alexius is alone now. I suspect all he really wished was the power to save his son.” 

Dorian’s raw devastation was the only thing that prevented her from pointing out that he’d nearly killed the entire world and _ everyone _Maria had left in his mad quest to save Felix. She couldn’t forgive him. Not even for Dorian. 

But she knew better than to say it. Particularly when Dorian covered his face with one hand, the slight tremor in his shoulders the only sign of the sobs he struggled to hold back. Maria unwrapped her arms from her torso, hesitating only a moment. With Dorian sitting and her standing, she stood just a bit taller than him. She stepped forward, tentative, and rested her marked palm on his shoulder. His free hand reached up almost immediately to cover hers, a silent gesture of gratitude while his long fingers wrapped gently over her hand and squeezed. 

“He was the best of us, you know.” Dorian murmured beneath his hand. “You could always count on Felix. If he had not been my friend, I… I don’t know what I would have done. I don’t know if I would be here now.” 

“He clearly thought you weren’t half bad either.” Maria offered, at a loss for anything else to say with that weighted confession in the air. “He went along with your crazy plan in Redcliffe, didn’t he?” 

Dorian’s laugh sounded broken, laced with unshed tears, but it was still warm and unbearably soft. “Of course he did. It was a brilliant one.”

Dorian dropped his hand from his face, eyes shining with emotion. His fingers gripped hers again. “At least Felix wasn’t the only decent sort kicking around Thedas.” 

* * *

Varric tried not to be overly obvious in his leisurely stroll to the rotunda. Up the courtyard steps, through the gallery where Vivienne set up her alchemy table because she claimed the light was ideal. Fiona nearly ran him over in her hurry to escape past the other witch, her face blotchy with fury. 

Maker’s balls, what did Dorian do? The last thing Maria needed was Fiona deciding to cause trouble because Sparkler stepped on a few toes. Varric scrubbed his hand across his jaw, casting his eyes back down at the group chat while he ambled past Vivienne holding up a glass beaker to the light. 

“Leave Dorian to his tantrum.” Vivienne advised, lifting her eyes from her work. “I’ve found the Inquisitor is the best one at talking him down. She’s more than capable.” 

“And miss the material for my next book?” Varric asked cheerfully. “Never.” 

Vivienne shrugged her elegant shoulders. “Suit yourself.” 

He would. At first, he’d been… understanding of Maria vanishing into the ether. He even tried to convince himself it was better, tried to talk himself into some gratitude that she wasn’t rubbing her rejection in his face. She was being kind, that was all, and sensible. Extremely sensible.

Except Varric needed to talk to her about an over growing list of items. He’d prefer to make his confession about Hawke in person, after all. He still needed to explain how the new AI on her phone worked and assuage any worries about robot eavesdropping, which was always better done face-to-face. The wi-fi in the castle was still spotty and she seemed to be the only one who could reason with her damn… 

As if it knew the direction of his thoughts, when he placed his hand on the door leading to the rotunda and shoved, Skyhold kept the door stubbornly shut. A gloating declaration that the group chat messages _ didn’t _ say Maria Cadash was looking for Varric Tethras, did they?

“You learn to read?” Varric grumbled quietly, praying to the Maker himself that Vivienne couldn’t hear him. He pressed forward again. 

The door didn’t budge. Varric knelt to examine the lock, frowning, but the knob rattled. It was, he thought, like a snake warning someone they were getting too close to its territory. 

“If you think I won’t pick this lock, you’ve got another thing coming.” Varric threatened. He had damn good lockpicks, and nothing but time. At the very least, he’d put some good scratches into… 

The door slid open silently just a crack, relenting to his whims. Or so Varric thought. When he went to shove it the rest of the way, it held fast. Varric could see a sliver of the room, now filled with empty shelves and plush chairs. One of those chairs contained Dorian Pavus, Maria standing in front of him, close enough to fall into his lap. She had her hand on his shoulder and as he watched, Dorian dropped the palm that covered his face to the table beside him. Varric could see the traces of lingering emotion etched into his handsome features. Maria smiled, a tenuous thing, but still there. She shook her head in silence, refuting whatever he’d said. Dorian took the hand he had trapped on his shoulder and lifted it, bringing her knuckles to his lips and placing a chaste, courtly kiss on them. 

The door closed gently, like a mother tucking their children into bed. A clear signal that Varric was interrupting a moment. One he had no part of. 

And the author in him, at least, could see the beauty in it. Dorian playing the part of an exiled stranger chased from his homeland, a prince in all but name trying to do the noble thing and fighting evil despite losing his family fortune meeting. Maria starring as a former criminal with a heart of gold, one who found herself lifted from the gutter to lead the righteous in a fight for the very soul of the world. It was a damn fine story. Varric almost wished he would have come up with it himself. Almost. 

The rest of him felt sick with envy. A monster inside him _ desperately _craved the right to place a kiss on Maria’s skin, the opportunity to have her lean towards him with that same sort of careless intimacy, to have her fall against him the same way she had their doomed night in Haven. 

But it wasn’t him. Yet again, it was someone else who had that privilege. Varric turned, blindly stalking past Vivienne. He tried to ignore her sharp, lingering gaze on his shoulder blades. It didn’t burn as much as the jealousy in his stomach anyway. He threw the door open and emerged on the walls back above the courtyard. Down below, he could see children drawing on the ancient walls with brightly colored chalk. Their laughter rang brightly, full of sheer joy. 

It hit him like shrapnel and he ran from it, back up the battlements. He wasn’t sure, entirely, where he was going. He just needed to keep walking, to put the picture of Maria and Dorian firmly behind him until he could look at it with some distance. Until it didn’t feel like holding a bleeding heart…

“But it’s not like that!” 

Cole’s furious protest from behind him made Varric stop short, turning to watch the kid scramble after him. The kid’s cheeks were flushed pink like he’d run halfway across the castle to catch Varric. He huffed to catch his breath, staring down Varric with panic. “No. She wanted to show you, but it knotted up all your strings. He _ needed _ her. Loss comes in waves, a small smile sneaking snacks into the study. Gone. He’s gone now and he was one of the last bits of home that didn’t cut the wrong way. She knows grief. She understands how to carry it.” 

“Kid, it’s fine.” Varric pinched his nose, hard, hoping the pain would clear the image from his head. Maria’s flushed cheeks, her shy amusement as Dorian’s lips brushed her skin. His princess in her castle with her devoted knight at her feet. Not him. Never him. 

“But it’s not.” Cole protested vehemently. “You’re both so scared. But the fall isn’t far and it’s soft underneath the walls. Alone isn’t safe. If no one knows you’re alive, you _ aren’t _.” 

The kid’s imploring tone softened, his eyes bright with emotion. “Tell her. You have the words and she’s been silent for so long.” 

He had a million things to tell her. But having her shoulder his bruised heart wasn’t on his list. “It’s alright.” Varric repeated. “It’s complicated, kid.” 

“It _ isn’t _.” Cole protested. 

Varric’s phone vibrated in his hand and he looked down, the unknown number flashing across the screen. It could only be one person. “I gotta take this.” 

He transferred the call directly to his earpiece, answering with a small amount of wariness while he turned his back on Cole to stare out over the mountains. “Hello?” 

“I’ve got good news.” Hawke’s sanguine voice was just what he needed to hear. He closed his eyes to bask in it for a second. “And I’ve got bad news. Which do you want first?” 

“I could use some good news.” He looked back over his shoulder, but found Cole had vanished as suddenly as he appeared. That… probably didn’t bode well. He sighed and leaned on the battlements, looking out instead, ignoring the prickling in his gut. 

“The smuggler you sent me didn’t slit my throat on the freighter to Jader. Which, by the way, rhymes.” 

Varric chuckled almost against his will. “And the bad news?” 

“You know that sleeping thing I said I’d do _ on _ the ship? Well, guess who forgot how much she hates sea travel. I hope you’re not expecting me to be in working order when I climb those damn mountains, Varric, because I’m going to need a nap.” 

Guilt twisted inside him uneasily. He didn’t want Hawke exhausted, falling prey to red templars or Venatori on the road. “You can stop and rest, Waffles. A day or two isn’t gonna kill us.” 

“It may.” Hawke joked. “The way your luck’s been lately? I won’t chance it. Besides, the more distance in between me and Fen I can get is best.” 

If someone didn’t know her well, they’d miss the hitch in her voice, the careful lightness almost smoothing it over. Varric sighed. He hadn’t heard a word from the elf, but he hadn’t expected to. It wasn’t exactly Varric asking Hawke to come that caused the problem. It was Hawke declaring she was coming _ alone _. 

Varric wasn’t entirely sure how that fight played out, although he knew it ended with Bethany sealing the lovers in separate rooms for a good long while. Hawke had her way, like she usually did, but Varric knew that wouldn’t last long either. The second Broody stopped brooding, he’d be off like a rocket on Hawke’s tail. It might take him a bit longer without Varric’s contacts smoothing the way, but Broody had experience smuggling himself out of and into places. He’d make it, eventually, Varric was certain.

“Should’ve just taken him with you.” It’s what Varric said the first time. And every time he’d spoken to Hawke since. 

Hawke gave varying reasons why he couldn’t come. The first, that Bethany needed him (patently false. Sunshine was perfectly capable of defending herself). The second, that he was just as much a fugitive as she was, clearly also false. 

“Bring him into a hotbed of Tevinter magic?” Hawke scoffed. “I’d never hear the end of it.” 

Another lie. Hawke wasn’t telling him something and she was hiding it from Broody too. That meant it was almost definitely going to bite them all in the ass. Eventually. Hopefully after they dealt with their Corypheus problem. 

“Any idea what your ETA is?” Varric asked. “Your trusty dwarf would very much like to get all the yelling and threats against my life done and over with.” 

“Depends on whether or not I can steal a car, how far that car can get me, and if I have to walk through snow up to my tits to get up there.” Hawke mused. “I’m in Jader now. Bet I can make it by tomorrow night.” 

“Take a nap.” He ordered. “Then you can start back up again.” 

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, Varric.” Hawke teased. 

For some reason those words sent an icy shiver of dread through him. They felt like a bad omen, and Varric wouldn’t count himself superstitious, but… 

“Be careful, at least.” Varric pleaded. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but we’d be lost without you.” 

“Varric!” He could see Hawke’s extravagant reaction in his mind, her fluttering hands, her mouth dropping into a startled, theatrical o. “I didn’t know you cared.” 

“Of course I care.” This was closer to honesty, to vulnerability, than either of them cared to go. But he’d called her here. Pulled her into danger again. His best friend, maybe the truest friend he’d ever had. If there was a time to be real, this moment with them standing on the edge of the end of the world was it. “I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.” 

Especially if she got hurt trying to save his ass. 

“It’s gonna be alright, Varric.” Hawke soothed immediately. “No need to get sentimental on me now. Besides, you need to save some of the good shit for my kickass memorial service, remember?” 

“Yeah, I remember.” He laughed weakly. “Pyrotechnics are already ordered, just like I promised.” 

“Excellent!” Hawke cheered. “Now, let’s see if I can remember how Fenris taught me to hotwire a car. See you soon, Varric.” 

The line clicked dead before he could get another word in. He huffed a laugh, shaking his head, staring out over the mountains. His head felt quieter already. Hawke was coming, fuck, maybe she’d know what to do about… 

“Cole told me I needed to find you.” Maria’s quiet voice was almost lost in the wind. “He said it was important.” 

Oh yeah, he knew the vanishing spirit kid was gonna be an issue. He spun, gluing on a smile, trying to replay the conversation. He hadn’t called Hawke by name, had he? Maker’s breath, how long had Maria been standing behind him, silent as a ghost, still as one of those statues of Andraste. Her eyes were unfathomable, the sky during a storm and she wore an expression Varric couldn’t quite read. It could have been anger, but it seemed to lack any heat. Maybe it was just weary resignation, a woman preparing for her eventual martyrdom.

Her eyes flicked to his earpiece and she jerked her chin at it. “Bianca?” 

_ Bianca _ . Hell, if she thought he was talking to his AI, he’d take it. And it was an excellent segway to the things he _ actually _needed to talk to her about. 

“Nice to see you too, Princess.” He greeted, softening his smile into something more real. “Speaking of Bianca…”

Maria shut her eyes a second too long, opening them on a shaky exhale and plastering a wooden smile over her features before she interrupted him. “You seem fine. Cole thought you’d be jumping from the battlements, but I can see he was wrong.” 

Maker’s ass, Varric was going to have a talk with the kid. The _ last _thing he needed the woman whose dad ate his gun worrying about was who’d be swandiving off the keep. Varric wasn’t that dramatic by a long shot. He grinned playfully. “It’s a long way down and we’ve got Netflix again, so I’m off the danger list.” 

“I can see now why you were so eager to get it up and running. I’m glad it worked.” Her facade was far too brittle, he felt like he’d shatter it with just the wrong word. She wasn’t even looking at him, but past him, into the abyss beyond. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. Listen, if you’re okay I’ve got to go. I’ve got a million things and…”

She impatiently shoved her hair back from her face. Varric watched, wary. “Maria…” 

“Varric.” She snapped. “It’s fine. It’s fine, everything is _ fine. _” 

Cause anything that had to be said three times was _ clearly _ true. But Varric couldn’t think of the right words to say to fix… whatever had just gone sideways. He wished he was brave enough to take her hand, intertwine their fingers together, make her stay put until he got to the bottom of it. 

_ She knows grief. She understands how to carry it. _

His tongue froze inside his mouth while he tried to find his words. But really, he only wanted to say one. Just one. _ Stay. _

Instead, Maria’s false smile seared itself into place. “See ya, Varric.” 

And as he watched, Maria fled back into her castle, leaving him bereft. Again. 

* * *

> Varric: In case nobody told you yet today, you’re knocking this Inquisitor thing out of the park. Best inquisitoning I’ve ever seen.  
Princess: Wait until you see whatever just happened on TV later then decide my prowess.  
Varric: Let’s forget whatever happened on the walls. I didn’t mean to get you worked up.  
Varric: I watched your interview. You did great.  
Varric: Talk to me, Princess. Please. 

Varric stared, morosely, at his phone. He’d been assigned a tiny broom cupboard off the side of the courtyard by Josephine, although he swore it _ had _ been larger. Now it seemed to barely contain his desk, bed, and a dresser with enough room to walk from one to the other. It also, Varric thought snidely, had some sort of issue with the heat. His crackling fireplace looked quaint, but it served no functional purpose. His room constantly felt somewhere just above freezing. 

He tore his eyes from the accusing light of his phone, his unanswered messages, and looked back at his tablet. He forced himself to watch the whole interview twice, even though it felt like rubbing against sandpaper to see Maria’s mouth spin the story of their desperate fight for survival, their half-baked flight into the void. 

Her own near brush with death before she stumbled into _ his _ arms. She left out that part, the way he held her, the way she tried to fight him off before relenting. Maybe she forgot. Maybe she didn’t remember it at all. 

The last five minutes were easier to watch. He hit play again, watched the last of the clip begin to roll, Maria’s voice quietly spinning magic as she spoke to Harding. “I want Skyhold to be a safe place. Not just for the people who fled Haven, but for everyone. The world is in danger from magic we don’t understand and we have to work together to take care of people who can’t fight on their own.” 

“Before the attack on Haven, people were frightened of what the Inquisition represented. Do you think the purpose has changed?” Harding asked calmly. 

“The attack on Haven did change us.” Maria insisted, a flicker of fire in those stunning eyes. “It changed everything. The Inquisition will unite Thedas around a common goal, protecting our people. Not just from Corypheus, but from the worst parts of these wars. Starvation, homelessness, and disease can kill as many people as a dragon. We have to be ready for that too. The Inquisition will serve everyone who needs us. Regardless of what they believe.” 

Maker, she was good. But the best part was what happened next. Whoever made the decision to leave it in was a genius. Her whole interview she’d been calm, although at times her eyes gleamed with both fury and unshed tears. There’d been no trace of nerves, Harding gently soothing them away as she was being interviewed. 

“Thanks Inquisitor.” Harding said, easily casual, falling back into reality. 

Maria’s eyes flicked directly to the camera, then back to Harding. A slow, small, triumphant smile tipped up one side of her lips, her eyes still glimmering with emotion. She looked heart wrenchingly vulnerable, easy to adore, and at the same time recklessly, amazingly brave. 

“Thanks Harding.” Maria breathed, shoulders relaxing, just before the image cut away to Ruffles. 

Judging by what he’d seen of the coverage, it was nothing short of a rousing success. A near miss that made their Herald a hero, made her an Inquisitor with just enough blazing courage to delight the masses. 

Varric hit stop on the video again, spared a chagrined glance at his phone. His own messages lingered pathetically. 

_ Bianca. _

She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. _ Nobody knew. _

Except, of course, that probably wasn’t technically true. Somebody in Rogue Tech, Bianca’s secretary at least, had to have some idea. Hawke _ knew _, although she was very good at pretending she didn’t know anything. What's-his-name might know. Varric didn’t care that much, but he might. 

How good _ was _ Nightingale? Good enough to ferret out his darkest secret? 

But even if Nightingale discovered their sordid affair, it’d been cooling for years. Fuck, he hadn’t even seen Bianca for at least a year. Kirkwall going to shit really ruined any furtive liaisons. Nightingale _ did _ know about Bianca’s digging in Maria’s past, of course. Was that enough for both women to draw their own conclusions?

Varric ran through his phone call with Hawke, again, listening with an outside ear. 

_ Of course I care. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. _

He could have been talking to anyone, but _ she’d _thought he’d been talking to Bianca. Maybe the real Bianca. If she’d heard what he’d said. If…

She heard. She _ definitely _ heard. That’s why she thought he’d been working on the communications so hard, to contact a lover. After, of course, attempting to seduce her in Haven. No _ wonder _ she wasn’t answering, no woman would. Even if she didn’t care about him, even if she’d rather keep him as a friend, the thought that he’d been lying or using her… 

His journal was open beside his phone, lines scrawled unsteadily on a blank page, the Lovers tucked in between the pages.

_I never tasted the stars before your kiss_   
_Never relished the flavor of the universe imploding_   
_But now I’m watching from the center of the flames_   
_Awash in the uncertainty of oblivion_   
_Wondering if this is what it feels like to burn.   
_

Fuck. _ Fuck. _

It was getting late, but not so late that she wouldn’t still be awake. Varric needed to fix this, the longer it festered, the worse it would get. He’d already waited over a day and… 

He stood, knocking his chair back into the bed, grabbing his coat from where he’d thrown it on the comforter. 

Thank Andraste he did 

The trickle of dust from the ceiling was barely visible in the dim light of his shoddy lamp and inefficient fire, he barely had time to recognize it for what it was before the stone above him cracked open, dumping plaster and stone and one sputtering, irritated woman on his bed.

He blinked, shocked, down at Hawke’s sprawled form. She squawked, sitting up, coat askew, backpack slung half off, covered in snow and rubble. 

“Maker’s balls, Varric.” Hawke asked, inquisitive blue eyes skipping around his room, a teasing smirk twisting her lips. “Why did they stick you in a closet?” 

He didn’t bother answering. He pointed up at the rapidly closing hole above his head. “Explanation, Hawke?” 

“I was a bit lost. Maybe it’s the castle’s idea of a shortcut? You weren’t kidding about it being a bit of a diva, hm?” Hawke stretched, examining his repaired ceiling with a good deal of curiousity. “I like it when impressive medieval fortresses come with attitudes.” 

“Why didn’t you text me?” Varric demanded, exasperated. 

Hawke simply grinned, sitting up in the mess that had been his bed, extending her arms. “I wanted to surprise you! And look, I did!” 

She certainly had. And, as always, her timing was horrid. Varric chanced a glance back at his phone. The second he did, he watched Hawke’s sunny smile drop from the corner of his eye. Without her mask, Varric realized how fucking exhausted she looked, how brittle her own bravado was. 

“Varric?” She asked softly. 

“It’s fine. Let’s see if we can clean off the bed. You look like you’re running on empty. We can wait until tomorrow to…” Varric thought it would be excellent if the castle decided to clean it’s own mess up, but somehow he doubted that would happen. 

“I’m fine.” Hawke protested immediately. “I’m good to go, I swear. And I wanna meet her.” 

Her. _ Her _. The inspiration for his latest shitty attempts at poetry. The woman he couldn’t get out of his head because she’d gotten under his skin. 

“Tomorrow.” Varric promised. “When’s the last time you ate? Real food, not candy bars and coffee.” 

“Varric.” Hawke repeated. And in that moment, he knew she’d seen. Somehow, he’d let his guard down long enough that she’d managed to glimpse his battered, broken soul. His insecurity and his vulnerabilities all laid bare. “What happened?” 

“Food first.” Varric muttered, tugging his coat on. “And fucking beer if I can find it. I’m gonna need it if you’re expecting to hear how badly I’ve fucked this one up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke to the rescue or is she about to make things so much worse?


	37. The Champion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke arrives and throws everything into chaos. Varric has to deal with the consequences of his lies. Maria almost makes a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late tonight, but I still made my deadline! If you're all reading this in quarantine, please enjoy!
> 
> ALSO, today is my birthday, and AO3 tells me that fifty people have subscribed to this fic which honestly is my pride and joy. What I would LOVE is if everyone that actually reads this could drop me a line letting me know that AO3 isn't lying to me!

When he wrote this, because honestly there was no way in hell he wouldn’t eventually, Varric Tethras would state he marched to his inevitable doom with a smile on his face. He would say he strode forth purposefully, full of conviction that this was indeed the right thing to do. He would leave no room for the doubts that plagued him. He’d never reveal the guilt twisting his gut into knots. He’d certainly never share the way he paused outside of Maria’s office, one hand on the great door, listening to the quiet murmur of voices inside. 

He wouldn’t admit to anyone he almost changed his mind. 

“We don’t know how Corypheus obtains his army of demons, but we do know the Prime Minister’s assasination will throw Orlais into chaos.” Josephine’s quiet voice posited. 

“An army of demons is a larger problem than one politician meeting her untimely demise.” Cullen pointed out with a soldier’s brute efficiency. 

“It is the red lyrium that powers the templars. If we could find the source…” Leliana posited. 

That was his cue, but he missed it, still frozen in indecision. Hawke waited up on the battlements above his room, but there was still time to send her packing. Put her out of harm’s way where nobody could break her too-fragile wings. 

“It’s not coming from legal lyrium mines, clearly. And if it’s being smuggled in, the Carta is involved.” Maria declared wearily. “I don’t have contact information. Fuck, I’m not even sure if I have real names, but I can tell you who’s in charge almost everywhere.” 

He could send Hawke packing, but not Maria. She’d fallen out of the frying pan straight into the fire, and if they weren’t careful she’d burn alive. 

“Any idea who would be desperate or stupid enough to get involved with smuggling something so dangerous?” Cullen asked. 

“A few.” Varric heard papers rustling as Maria spoke. “I’ll write them down in order of most to least likely.” 

“Where does your former boss fall on that list?”

A split second of piercing silence followed Cullen’s second question. Varric could picture Maria’s shoulders hunching defensively. Sweet Andraste, if Curly kept being that thick, the hole in his roof was never going to get fixed. “Near the top.” Maria’s voice slid smoothly over the harsh gap in discussion. “But if he was involved in it prior to the conclave, I’d have known. Still, he’s the easiest to check. I know where all his mines are.” 

“Send me the locations and I will send spies to ensure they are not producing red lyrium.” Leliana insisted. “Perhaps we will also learn where he has fled.” 

Interesting. Varric wondered when Dwyka hit the road. Did he know Maria planned to go after him when she sealed the vortex? Would he decide to go after her first? If Corypheus, red templars, demons, and a blighted dragon didn’t get her, was Dwyka lurking in the shadows with a blade to slip between her ribs?

“I suppose using your… prior contacts is advisable.” Josephine stated. “It is important to track down the source of this red lyrium before anyone else is infected.” 

The source of the red lyrium. Well, he knew who that was and they didn’t have to look far. It was his mess, and Maria caught in the damn middle of it. 

“I would feel better if I knew what we were dealing with.” Leliana sighed. 

That gave him the push he needed to step forward and shove the door open. His arrival brought everyone inside to a screeching halt, all of them wrenching their eyes from the mess of paperwork in front of them. The three advisors just speared him with varying degrees of concern and irritation. His eyes skipped right over them to the smaller figure on the other side of the table, her smoky eyes dropping from his before she began to speak. “Varric, we’re…” 

If he didn’t say it now, he’d lose his nerve. “I know someone who can help with that.” 

His interruption caused her to stop, reconsider dismissing him out of hand. She straightened and leveled her gaze on him, wary and far too still for his liking. But she was looking at him, actually looking at him, and that was a start. He forced a smile, just for her, and kept talking. That, after all, was one of the few things he excelled at. “Everyone acting all inspirational has jogged my memory, so I sent a message to an old friend who crossed paths with this demon before. She wants to help. She  _ can _ help.” 

“Oh.” Josephine exclaimed immediately, dainty hand fluttering to her mouth. “Oh no. Varric, you haven’t.” 

“For fucks sake.” Cullen growled, pushing his fingers against his temple to soothe a headache. Varric recognized the gesture. He’d seen Curly suffer enough Hawke induced headaches after all. “ _ She  _ is the last thing we need…” 

“It cannot be.” Leliana stated bluntly. “My agents would have seen her come into the castle. And if it  _ is _ her… Cassandra will murder you.” 

Most likely. Varric resolutely didn’t pay attention to the promise, holding Maria’s eyes instead. She’d gone pale while he spoke, watching him with growing alarm, but not much shock. “Damnit, Varric.” She finally swore. “Why? Why  _ now? _ ”

All he could think about was Hawke’s lyrium blue gaze peering at him over her bottle, mouth curled up in a half smirk as she listened with growing amusement and wonder to the way he’d turned his cute flirtation with the Herald of Andraste into a dumpster fire of awkwardness with the Inquisitor. 

_ Hear me out. What if maybe, just once, you tried telling her the truth when she asks a fucking question?  _

“It’s complicated.” Varric shrugged uneasily. 

It wasn’t. Not really. Maria Cadash almost died and that hadn’t  _ just _ changed the Inquisition. He watched her slip through his fingers and he would never be the same. But, the thought of telling her, especially now with her eyes and three others glued to his. 

“When isn’t it?” Maria asked, curling her right hand into a fist, clenching the sun tightly in her palm. Her first trembled minutely for a moment before she eased her grip and shoved away from the table, a flurry of lethal energy. “You better introduce me.” 

“Not here, Princess.” Yeah they’d have to drag Hawke down here, eventually. But Hawke making her case and answering questions in front of a highly ranked chantry representative, an upper class ambassador, and  _ fucking _ Curly was not a good way to start. Hawke  _ hated _ crowds. And authority. And religion. 

Clearly, this was going to work out well. Varric could feel the migraine starting already. 

Maria snapped to action immediately, striding with purpose to his side. She tossed her hair out of her eyes and held his gaze. A challenge and a dare. “Alright then.” 

Yes, this was the Inquisitor. Hard and decisive, unflinching in a challenging situation. She’d be brilliant, until her luck ran out, until the world ate her alive like it tried to with Hawke. He didn’t know if he was unbearably proud or pants-shittingly terrified. 

Both. Probably both. 

Varric tried to smile at her, but her pale eyes simply watched, cold and unfeeling while she jerked her head to door in a clear order. Varric obeyed, leading her out past Josephine’s cozy office. He’d heard the sweet ambassador turned into a fierce gatekeeper, nearly as ferocious as a dragon despite her designer shoes and honey tongue. Out into the courtyard, up the steps in stony silence. He could see by Maria’s face that she expected him to lead her to his hole in the wall room. She was momentarily thrown when they changed directions and kept traveling up all the steps. 

“So. Network coverage must still be spotty.” Varric stated calmly into the loaded silence. He wondered if  _ this _ was how she felt before she lobbed that grenade in Haven. 

“I’ve been too busy to check.” Maria lied immediately. Varric could let her get away with it. He was almost tempted to. 

He didn’t. “You didn’t answer me last night. I keep trying to text you and I never did get a response. I almost thought you weren’t talking to...” 

“We’re talking now.” Maria interrupted. 

“Bullshit.” Varric had been in enough of  _ these _ situations to know when a stubborn, brilliant woman was definitely  _ not _ talking to him while infuriatingly continuing to say words that meant nothing. “Maria, I didn’t lie to you, I swear.” 

She stopped, stunned. Her marked hand fluttered to indicate the rest of the steps leading to the top level of Skyhold, her eyebrow lifting in a silent, but clear ‘really, Varric?’ 

“Okay, to be fair.” Varric shrugged uneasily. “I lied to  _ everyone _ about this. I didn’t lie to you, specifically, about anything.” 

“ _ Bullshit. _ ” Maria hissed, turning on her heel to continue stomping up the steps. 

He wanted to grab her, make her listen, but he remembered at the last second that was  _ exactly _ the wrong thing to do. Still, if she fled and he lost his opportunity… “What do you think I lied to you about?” He demanded. 

For a second he worried she still wouldn’t say, thought she’d be too damn stubborn to do it. Then she cursed and fury sparked to life in those eyes as she whirled on him. “Were you going to tell me about your girlfriend before or after you took my underwear off, Varric?” 

He tried to ignore his surge of triumphant relief. Varric crossed his arms over his chest pointedly. “Hard to inform you about something I don’t have, Princess.” 

Not anymore. Not now. It still felt like a sick sort of weightlessness to admit it, a wrongness, like gravity just up and stopping. 

“I heard…” Maria argued, cheeks tinged pink, ears burning red under her hair. She took a step towards him, fierce and furious. Varric held his ground. 

“Me asking a  _ friend _ to try not to get herself killed. Which is, may I add, a real concern for  _ that _ friend in particular. I’d feel pretty shitty, Princess, if Hawke went and got her hair mussed running to  _ my  _ rescue.” He had watched enough people die senselessly over the last few months. Hawke couldn’t be one of them. 

Maria couldn’t be one of them. 

“I’ve always thought I pulled off the messy chic look quite well, Varric.” Hawke’s amused voice drifted from the top of the steps and caused both Varric and Maria to pull away from each other. Of course, Varric’s favorite annoying witch noted the action with gleeful amusement. “I’m hurt you’d think otherwise.” 

Hawke’s lips curled into a playul, satisfied smirk while she ambled down the stairs. She looked much better after a decent sleep and with actual food shoved in her, less likely to keel over at any moment, but Varric could use a little less cunning awareness in those eyes. 

“Hawke, meet the Inquisitor.” He turned the situation smoothly back to its purpose. “Inquisitor, Hawke. Champion of Kirkwall, general pain in my ass, and great ignorer of instructions to stay put.” 

“Exactly the words I want inscribed on my tombstone.” Hawke declared airily, fluttering to his side and tipping her head while she examined Maria before smiling as broadly as she could. The wicked edge of it made Varric instantly regret whatever was going to come out of her mouth. His fears were confirmed instantly. “If I kept waiting for you two to finish bickering like an old married couple, I was going to be up there all day.” 

Yep. There was the migraine. 

To Maria’s credit, she didn’t show anything beyond a slight twitch of her jaw. She thrust her hand out instead, tipping her chin up to hold Hawke’s lyrium blue gaze with her own. “I’m Maria Cadash. Inquisitor Maria Cadash.” 

“Of course you are.” Hawke winked, but she extended her own hand as well. “Everyone knows who you are. The unluckiest dwarf in the world, which is  _ clearly _ saying something because Varric’s beard fell onto his chest years ago and we never could pick it up.” 

Hawke always could melt anyone like a pat of butter in a frying pan. The flicker of a smile on Maria’s face, the first real warmth he’d seen in forever, felt like the sun coming from behind the clouds. Their hands met in the air between them and something frizzled, a flash of energy that made his hair stand on end. 

Hawke hummed softly under her breath, quickly twisting Maria’s hand over to stare at the sun emblazoned on her skin. Maria tried to pull away, but Hawke held her firmly as she examined the seared mark with no small amount of astonishment. 

“Well, that’s rather more literal than it usually goes.” Hawke muttered, mostly to herself. “Does it hurt?” 

“Only when I laugh.” Maria deadpanned. Varric’s amused chuckle surprised him when it slipped out, but what surprised him more was Hawke’s soft, sweet smile. 

“There you are.” She whispered, dropping Maria’s hand. Maria simply stared, torn between bewilderment and general wariness. 

“Here I am.” Maria pointed out. “On top of a wall. With the witch  _ everyone’s  _ been looking for all over fucking Thedas.” 

“But I let  _ you _ find me!” Hawke crowed, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder and slipping past Maria to lean on the nearest wall, beaming at the pair of them. “You should feel special, Inquisitor. Varric doesn’t bring just anyone home to meet me.” 

“Because you’re strange,  _ even _ for a human, wildly inappropriate at the best of times, and prone to somehow dragging my ass into situations that involve significant risk to said ass.” Varric interrupted, trying to keep Hawke from veering off…

“And what an ass it is.” Hawke sighed theatrically, hopping up to perch just on the edge of the wall. Varric couldn’t decide whether he wished she’d sit somewhere safer or fall off. “Have you noticed, Inquisitor? Turn around and let us get a good look, Varric.” 

Fall to her death it was, then. Hawke’s eyes danced with wild laughter, lips pursed to hold it in. Varric knew begging was no use, Hawke showed no mercy when she embarked on a plan. He’d hoped she’d been joking when she stared at him, unblinking, and told him if  _ he _ couldn’t fucking talk Maria’s pants off  _ she’d _ do it for him.

“Why  _ are _ you here?” Maria insisted, pointedly not looking at Varric and ignoring Hawke’s statements entirely. 

The question caused Hawke to release a bit of her bravado and roll her shoulders to try and ease the tension she carried there. She frowned into Maria’s face, thoughtful. “Varric said you saw him? Corypheus?” 

“Varric said  _ you _ killed him.” Maria shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and scowled. “But… Varric says a lot of things.” 

Hawke and Varric shared a mutual, uneasy look. They had to give her that rather lackluster statement on Varric’s character, at least. Maria continued, ignoring their unspoken communication to get to the damn point. “Fuck if I know whether or not he’s actually alive. But he’s definitely not dead enough.” 

“I certainly thought we had.” Hawke tapped her fingers on the wall, considering. “I’m not ashamed to admit he’s probably one of the most frightening things  _ I’ve _ ever faced. I can’t imagine having to do it alone. I wish you wouldn’t have had to.” 

That small amount of empathy was enough to chase away the stone from Maria’s expression. For a second, Varric saw through the mask she’d adopted as the Inquisitor, saw the woman they pulled out of the vortex the first time. She was still there, still trying  _ resolutely _ to be brave in spite of it all. 

“It’s not something I’d want to do twice.” Maria brought the mantle up again in a heartbeat, wryly smiling at Hawke. 

Hawke who could charm the damn pants back  _ onto _ Isabela’s ass. Varric had never been more grateful in his life. Hawke’s eyes burned brightly and she nodded in determination, shooting Varric a look over Maria’s shoulder. “You won’t. I know someone, she’s a Warden, and she was trying to help me figure out what the fuck happened with Corypheus and the red lyrium. I just need to get in contact with her, find out what she learned.” 

“The wardens are missing.” Maria frowned, shaking her head. “Leliana can’t find any of them, and she’s tried. One of them, your cousin, is a friend?” 

“Yep.” Hawke popped the p on the end of the word. “Trust me, I know. Leliana can’t find her, but I can. Swear on Andraste’s…” 

Hawke stopped, blinking several times. “Wait, can I swear in front of you? Is the Maker gonna lightning bolt me if I blaspheme in front of…” 

“Probably not.” Varric, after all, once had  _ Maria  _ begging and pleading to the Maker, Andraste, their ancestors, the stone, and any other god she could think of. “But if you start to feel a tingle, warn us so we can step away.” 

“Anyway…” Maria prodded, but Varric didn’t miss the twitch of amusement, quickly smothered. Hawke didn’t either and she grinned, but said nothing. Thank the fucking Maker. 

“I can find Chantal Amell.” Hawke promised. “I’m one of  _ two _ people she can’t hide from. I just need a couple things for a ritual. I’m sure you have them, or if you don’t this  _ fantastic _ fortress you have here can provide them.” 

Hawke enthusiastically patted the wall beside her like she was praising a cat. Varric rolled his eyes. 

“It is nice, isn’t it?” Maria softened, smiling almost affectionately as she spoke about her damn castle. 

“It suits you.” Hawke declared, stretching and leaning precariously into the abyss below. “Point me to your best witches and I’ll get this ritual up and running. Tomorrow would be the best time for it, the spell works best at dawn.” 

“Varric can introduce you.” Maria allowed her eyes to flick to his, briefly, before she quickly looked away. “Vivienne, Solas, and Dorian…” 

Varric knew what was coming immediately. A stormcloud descended on Hawke’s face. “No.” She bit out. “ _ Not _ Dorian. I don’t work with Magisters.” 

Varric had been so caught up in his own woes he’d blissfully forgotten  _ this _ was going to be an issue. Maria bristled, a matching thunderous expression rising to her softer features. “How do you know Dorian’s from…” 

She answered her own question, unfortunately. Varric found himself on the opposite end of that scorching glare one more time. “Maker’s balls, how long have you been  _ spying  _ on us?” 

“I have not been  _ spying _ per se. Just… talking to a friend.” He gestured helplessly to the air around them. Maria didn’t tear her angry expression from his face so Varric turned to Hawke instead. “Sparkler’s a bit… much, but he’s one of the good ones.” 

“I have a rule, Varric. For good reasons.” Hawke set her jaw stubbornly, eyes going icy. “No Magisters.  _ Ever _ .” 

“Good thing he keeps informing us, loudly, that he isn’t one.” Maria declared hotly, finally ripping her gaze back to Hawke. 

“They’re all the same.” Hawke shrugged nonchalantly. “You’ll see. You can’t trust them as far as you can throw them and I can throw them pretty damn…” 

“Either you work with Dorian,  _ respectfully _ , or you fuck off back to where you came from.” Maria threw down the ultimatum without even flinching. “Your choice.” 

There wasn’t enough tylenol in this castle to help him now. Hawke threw her shoulders back, mouth opening furiously, eyes locking on Varric’s. 

_ Please. _ He thought telepathically.  _ Please don’t do this to me, Waffles. _

Somehow, it worked. Hawke stared at him, considering, visibly biting the inside of her cheek so hard Varric would be shocked if it wasn’t bleeding. Finally, she collapsed in on herself, dramatically waving away the tension. “Fine. If that’s what it takes to actually kill Corypheus, I’ll do it. This one time.” 

Hawke could whisk away her own bad feelings, but Maria didn’t drop her renewed wariness for one moment. She looked between Hawke and Varric with the distinct impression she couldn’t decide if either of them were friend or foe. 

What a fucking disaster. 

“Whatever you need for this ritual, one of those three will help you get it.” The mask of the Inquisitor was plastered over her features again, smoothing over her voice with steel. “They can get a message to me when you’re ready to actually do it.” 

Hawke saluted playfully, but Maria had already turned from her. Varric prepared to watch her vanish, again, but she paused beside him with a measuring glance before she spoke. “Steer clear of Cassandra for awhile.” 

Solid advice he fully intended to take. “Let me know if she ever starts feeling less stabby.” 

Maria nodded, hunching her shoulders and turning back into the heart of Skyhold. She was barely out of sight before he turned back to Hawke. “That could have gone better.” 

“In all honesty,” Hawke examined her chipped nail polish thoughtfully. “It could have gone far worse.” 

Hawke quiet and introspective was never a good sign. Varric watched her closely, stomach sinking. “You don’t like her.” 

“I  _ adore _ her.” Hawke grumbled, giving him a solid stink eye. “And you, coincidentally, which is the only reason I’m  _ not _ fucking off back to a warm bed with a handsome elf in it. One who’s going to be bloody furious when he finds out what I just agreed to, may I add.” 

Varric couldn’t concentrate on the last bit of Hawke complaining, too fixated on the first part. “You  _ adore _ her?” He repeated. 

Hawke rolled her eyes, bouncing off the wall impatiently. “Do you have  _ any  _ idea how long it’s been since someone knew who I was and still had the balls to tell me to fuck off? It’s refreshing, honestly. Besides…” 

Hawke paused, eying him critically. “I could never dislike someone that was watching out for my favorite bundle of chest hair so closely.” 

“She just doesn’t want to clean my blood off her cobblestones when Cassandra gets a hold of me.” Varric joked, swinging his arm around Hawke’s waist. “C’mon, lets see what kinda trouble you can get into.” 

* * *

Varric forgot how much fun a flock of witches  _ wasn’t _ once they started swinging their focuses around and measuring whose was bigger. 

“I insist we learn the details of this ritual.” Vivienne arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “I do not take direction from  _ unlicensed _ …” 

“I have my license.” Hawke fluttered her lashes innocently. “In my other wallet.” 

“You must  _ certainly _ no longer do. The Circles suspended it after that debacle you allowed to happen in Kirkwall.” Vivienne snapped, smoothing her elegant dress over her hips. “I cannot  _ believe _ that the Inquisitor…” 

“Wait, they took my license?” Hawke asked, turning her gaze to Varric. “When?”

“I sent you an email.” He waved it away dismissively. “I figured  _ not _ having one never stopped you before.” 

“Well, yes, but  _ still _ …” Hawke pouted. 

“I am calling the Inquisitor.” Vivienne withdrew a cellphone from thin air, frowning as she peered into it. A few taps later and she was holding it to her ear. 

“Seriously? You’re calling  _ mom _ ?” Hawke scoffed. “You can’t tell me that pajama elf over there has  _ his _ license.” 

“Pajama elf?” Solas repeated dubiously. 

Dorian laughed warmly, sweeping his gaze from Solas’s plain cotton shirt to the loose linen pants and bare feet. “Well, Solas, she has a point.” 

“And  _ his _ license comes from a country known for abusing the rights of their elves!” Hawke continued furiously, pointing at Dorian. Vivienne cooly ignored her.

“What do you actually require, Champion?” Solas asked neutrally, ears only slightly pink from the pajama elf comment. 

Before Hawke could answer Vivienne pulled her phone from her ear and sighed, casting an exasperated glance at Dorian. “You call her, darling. She won’t let  _ you _ go to voicemail.” 

Varric kept his expression carefully neutral as Dorian smirked and shook his head. “Let the furious rogue witch do what she wishes, Vivienne, what harm could she do?” 

“Exactly the sort of attitude one would expect from Tevinter.” Vivienne huffed. 

Hawke turned her attention to the most reasonable witch in attendance, flashing a sweet as pie grin. “Felandaris, embrium, and blood lotus. A map of Ferelden and a cleansed ritual area…” 

“We don’t currently have a cleansed ritual area.” Solas replied tersely. “Although I am nearly certain those herbs grow in the garden. Or will, if you require them.” 

“I’m sorry.” Hawke repeated, aghast. “You’ve got every witch left in southern Thedas here but you  _ don’t _ have a cleansed ritual area? What have you all been doing?” 

“Surviving the war  _ you _ started.” Vivienne scowled. 

“Fleeing for our lives. Feeding the hungry. Managing a magical castle. We have been rather busy.” Dorian grinned, finally pulling his phone from the pocket of his jacket. 

Varric could tell those two comments smarted, even as Hawke tried to shrug them off. “Well in a castle this size…” 

“And  _ what _ sort of ritual do you plan on completing?” Vivienne asked again, rather more menacingly. 

“It’s a simple finding spell.” Hawke repeated, rolling her eyes. “Anyone could…” 

Varric lost track of the conversation, watching Dorian hit just one button, a shortcut to call Maria directly. He placed the phone up to his ear and waited only a few seconds before he smiled broadly. “I’m afraid we require some clarity. May I put you on speakerphone?” 

Varric couldn’t hear the response, and even if he could, he was too busy trying  _ not _ to feel the quickness of her response to the human like a punch in the gut. Maria said something that made Dorian’s eyes sparkle. “Yes.” He said wickedly. “It is  _ indeed _ like managing a daycare.” 

With that he pulled the phone from his ear and hit a button, turning the screen to face them. Maria’s voice floated out of the speaker. “What’s the fucking issue?” 

“I have grave concerns handing over  _ any _ of our resources to a known associate of the man that landed us all in this situation.” Vivienne complained acidly. “Particularly when…” 

“Noted.” Maria stated dryly. “And overruled unless you’ve got a better idea for figuring out this fucking red lyrium bullshit.” 

“She is basically a criminal of the lowest…” 

“So am I.” Maria’s voice turned cold in a moment. “In case you forgot.” 

That shut Vivienne up immediately. She shot Dorian a look over the phone and the man simply arched his own brow in challenge. Hawke folded her arms over her chest triumphantly. 

“As you wish, Inquisitor.” Vivienne stiffened her shoulders. “But I will be watching.” 

“That seems fine to me. Unless Hawke has any objections?” 

“Hawke  _ certainly _ does.” Hawke growled. “I’m not a child, I don’t need watched.” 

“Also duly noted.” Maria stated wryly. “And overruled. Vivienne can watch you and if she sees something she finds concerning she can text me. Is there anything else or can I get back to all this sodding…” 

“One last thing.” Dorian pulled the phone back to himself, tipping his head as he thought. “We need a ritual area, a nice proper space. The one at the Vyrantium circle was about twenty square feet and had a nice, easily cleaned, polished floor.”

“And there should be windows facing north, my dear.” Vivienne sniffed. “For ideal lighting conditions.” 

“Also a rather sturdy set of tables, supplied already with chalk, incense, wine, and candles.” Dorian continued cheerfully. 

“Wine?” Solas asked doubtfully.

“I always find my rituals go a bit smoother with a glass to calm the nerves.” Dorian explained with a wink. 

“Andraste, you’re not asking for a lot.” Varric could picture Maria rubbing at her temple. “Where do you expect me to just put a ritual room? We’ve got people crammed everywhere. Do we  _ really _ need one?” 

“Oh I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Dorian chirped. “Do let us know when you’ve come up with it.” 

“For fuck’s sake…” Maria exclaimed. 

“Do you require anything else that may cause dissension in the ranks while we have the Inquisitor on the phone?” Solas asked Hawke, sounding at once bored and amused. 

“Strippers and drugs.” Hawke snapped waspishly. 

“That’s my sister’s department.” Maria’s voice curled with sudden amusement. “You can put in a request with her. Anything else?” 

“Hawke is to do as she wishes, Vivienne will sulk, I will continue to be utterly charming, Solas will continue being equally as boring, we’ll contact your sister for hedonism, and I shall wait breathlessly for a ritual space.” Dorian summarized neatly. “Do try and take a break today? For me?” 

“If you insist.” Maria grumbled. “Bye.” 

And just like that, the line went dead. Varric, of course, beneath mention. An observer of the story, nothing more. Just like always. It shouldn’t sting. 

“So, exploring?” Dorian questioned. Solas was already frowning at the sturdy loafers beneath his desk. 

“Exploring?” Hawke paroted. 

“If the castle knows what our dear Inquisitor wants, it acts very quickly to provide it.” Dorian explained casually. “We must simply locate wherever it has appeared.” 

“Things tend to migrate too.” Varric shrugged, trying to cast off the uneasy feeling as Dorian slipped his phone back into his coat. “Never know what you’re going to find where. Or how many damn steps you’re going to need to climb.” 

“Bullshit.” Hawke narrowed her eyes, but the excitement sparking to life within them was unmistakable “It’s  _ that _ good?” 

“Yes.” Solas said quietly, almost proudly. “The spirit is nothing if not adaptable and helpful.” 

“Then why are you sleeping in a glorified closet?” Hawke asked Varric, lips twitching. 

“Do not forget...” Vivienne sailed past icily, casting her disapproving gaze over both Varric and Hawke. He’d seen her look more kindly on things stuck to the bottom of her shoe. “Who exactly is the mistress of this castle.” 

“Somehow I doubt I’m the one who needs reminding.” Hawke mumbled. 

Varric certainly could have done without the reminders of where he stood. Dorian smiled at the walls as Solas slipped his shoes back on, as comfortable within this fortress as Maria was. Welcomed warm heartedly, phone calls answered, protectiveness indulged and reciprocated by the woman whose home it was. 

“You go ahead, Hawke.” Varric directed. “I’m gonna grab a more comfortable pair of boots before we go on this scavenger hunt.” 

“I’ll come with you.” Hawke jumped in immediately. “Or we’ll wait.” 

He could hear the plea in her voice. The ‘please don’t leave me alone with these people’ she always pulled in Kirkwall. And Varric wanted to indulge her, he did. But he was fucking tired and something inside him ached like an old woud with stiches torn open. He gave her a wooden smile instead and jerked his chin. “Go, I’ll catch up. Try and play nice.” 

Hawke’s shoulders sagged but she sighed, resigned, and looked at Solas and Dorian. “Fine. Let’s go.” 

Varric didn’t stay to watch her leave. He pushed past, following Vivienne, and tried to ignore Hawke’s knowing gaze boring into his shoulders. 

* * *

Maria felt the weight of Bea’s glare as soon as the door shut, she didn’t even need to look up to confirm who’d sailed into her office. She finished up the paragraph she was typing even as Bea silently fumed. 

Exactly what Maria needed today, another argument. She hit send on the email and finally met Bea’s eyes while sticking her elbows on the desk. Her sister had her jaw set in a steely gesture of determination, chest heaving as she struggled to contain her irritation. Maria fought the urge to scream and instead simply slid back in her chair. “Any chance whatever we’re gonna fight about can wait until tomorrow?” 

“Oh, I have a  _ list _ .” Bea seethed, clenching her hands into fists. “And you’re going to stay right here and listen to it regardless of your schedule.” 

Maria simply waved her hand in the air, indicating Bea should get it over with. Bea stalked over to the desk and slammed her palm on it “Why is Leliana trying to track down people in the Carta?” 

“In case someone’s smuggling red lyrium.” Maria answered smoothly. 

“Because there’s  _ no way _ you getting tangled up in the Carta is going to go badly.” Bea snarked. “Every time you start nosing around them,  _ we  _ get burned.” 

“We’ve got to cut off the templars’ supply, Bea. I don’t have a choice.” Maria hitched her shoulders up defensively as Bea’s glare turned withering. 

“I’ve never heard  _ that _ before.” 

“Beatrix, I’ll be careful.” Maria promised. 

“No you won’t. You never are.” Bea leaned over the desk further. “Which brings us to the next point on the list.  _ When _ did you actually eat last or drink anything besides coffee?” 

“I ate breakfast.” Maria rocked back in the chair, shocked by this turn. 

“You ate  _ half _ an apple and drank three cups of coffee.” Bea accused. “Then skipped lunch. So, I guess you’re going to start having meals with me.” 

“If you miss me, you could just say.” Maria was struggling not to be a bit touched. “When did you start caring about my diet?” 

“Nobody else is!” Bea protested furiously. “Which brings us to point number three.” 

“How many points are there? Do I need to cancel my next meeting?” Maria asked with a laugh. 

“What the  _ fuck _ is going on with you and Varric Tethras?” 

Oh if that wasn’t a loaded question, she didn’t know what was. She’d rather play roulette with a loaded gun than even attempt to answer it. “I’m not entirely sure what you’re talking about.” 

Bea’s eyes narrowed. “Let me remind you, then. You  _ left _ me at  _ your _ celebation party to go fuck him…” 

“Alright. That’s not accurate.” Maria tried to tamp down the tell-tell blush creeping up her neck. 

“And then  _ didn’t _ fuck him, judging by the remaining sexual tension, anyway.” Bea continued, overriding her protest. “Which would be  _ fine _ except…” 

“Except what?” Maria snapped. 

“Except you two act like a cute couple the whole time we’re trekking through the damn mountains, only to  _ instantly _ turn miserable the second you have a real bed to tango on. So, I ask again, what the  _ fuck _ happened?” 

Nothing. Nothing happened. “We almost made a mistake. Now it’s awkward. The end.” 

Bea leaned back, chewing on that for a moment. Maria grabbed her tablet again to stop herself from trembling. 

“It looks to me like you were playing chicken with him and you both swerved.” Bea observed. 

“It wasn’t like that.” Maria defended softly, refusing to look back up as Bea took her in. She wasn’t sure  _ what _ it was like, but it wasn’t like that. 

She still remembered the sting from days before when she’d heard him on the phone, playful and sweet, telling someone else he cared. Telling someone else he couldn’t live without her. The second she’d heard…

He’d been nothing but clear that he wanted to support her, but he didn’t  _ care _ for her that way. And that’d been fine. That had been okay. There’d been no reason to feel like those soft words were a hammer aimed at her jagged, bleeding heart. 

Except they had been. And she’d acted badly. There’d been no reason for her to get jealous or possessive, no reason to think she hadn’t been just a fling to begin with, but if he hadn’t been talking to a girlfriend at all… 

Well, that didn’t matter either. It meant he wasn’t a piece of shit, it didn’t mean he wanted her. 

“Oh.” Bea said quietly. “Oh  _ shit _ .” 

“What?” Maria asked, irritated. Bea was staring at her, mouth open, looking a bit panic stricken. 

“Listen. Just sleep with him. You both  _ clearly _ want to..” Bea tried to shift her tone into cajoling to mask the horor on her face that Maria didn’t quite understand. “Get him out of your system and move the fuck on with a little spring in your step. You’ll feel better. He’ll feel better. Everyone’s happy.” 

“What’s it like to live in your world?” Maria asked snidely. “And why do you care?” 

“A shit ton less complicated and a hundred times more fun.” Bea perched herself on the edge of the desk. “It doesn’t  _ always _ have to be heartbreak and woe, Ria. Don’t get attached to him, just… have fun. You’re his boss now, right? Earn yourself a little sexual harassment lawsuit.” 

Wouldn’t Bull just a kick out of that? Maria rubbed her temple and glared up at Bea. “Have we reached the end of your list yet?” 

“We absolutely have not.” Bea thumped her heel against the desk pointedly. “Did you  _ seriously _ tell Cullen to teach me how to shoot?” 

“Yes.” She said, looking back down, exhausted already. 

“No.” 

“Not up for discussion. And don’t say me or Bull could do it because we  _ both _ know you won’t listen to either…” 

The door swung open, admitting a rather nervous looking young woman, one of Cullen’s new lieutenants. “Uh.. Commander Rutherford said I should… I should inform…” 

Maria lifted an eyebrow as the woman stuttered to a stop before she rushed on. “Seeker Pentaghast and Mister Tethras are in the weapons locker and there’s… a lot of yelling.” 

_ Fuck.  _

“Well, you better go rescue him.” Bea’s smug grin didn’t make Maria feel any better as she jumped out of her chair. She ignored Bea’s yell as she fled past the soldier “And then we’re having dinner at six!” 

* * *

Maria flew into their makeshift armory like a dragon herself. Just in time to hear a rather heavy thud reminiscent of a solid dwarf hitting a more solid table. 

“You’re insane!” Varric accused from up a flight of stairs. 

“You’re a lying, conniving…” 

Another worrying thump. Maria bolted past the racks of what body armor, ammunition, and weapons they salvaged from Haven. She took the stairs as fast as her short legs could go, emerging just in time to see Varric barely dodge Cassandra’s punch. He balled his own hands into solid fists, although he didn’t raise them. Even though he didn’t, she could picture them. Big, brutal, bruising… 

She almost couldn’t breathe past the thought. 

“That’s ENOUGH!” She yelled past the rushing blood in her ears, watching as both of them stumbled to a halt in their argument and turned their fury on her. 

“You’re taking  _ his _ side?” Cassandra asked incredulously. 

“I think you heard her, you crazy...” Varric started hotly. 

“I said, ENOUGH!” She cried out again, pushing away from the stairs to place herself firmly in between their two forms before Cassandra lashed out again. She could feel her own pulse spiking, adrenaline singing. “What the  _ fuck _ are you two doing?” 

“Varric is a liar, Inquisitor.” Cassandra spat. “A snake! He knew where Hawke was all along and he…” 

“Damn right I did!” Varric never could keep his mouth shut, his jaw trembling with fury. “You  _ kidnapped  _ me. Why would I tell you anything?” 

“The fate of our efforts to secure peace depended on Hawke!” Cassandra shook as well, eyes flashing. “I  _ told _ you I would see that she did not come to harm.” 

“And I was supposed to  _ trust _ you?” Varric asked sarcastically. “After all the shit you people  _ didn’t _ do to keep Kirkwall from dropping into the damn abyss? I’m still waiting on an apology from the Seekers to all the people Meredith killed on your watch.” 

“I don’t think we can lay the blame for what happened to Kirkwall on Cassandra. She wasn’t in charge of that mess.” Maria stated evenly, trying to maintain her calm, trying to push past her spiking heartbeat. 

“If  _ anyone _ could have prevented the explosion at the conclave, if anyone could have saved all  _ those _ people…” Cassandra insisted. “Or do those lives not matter, Varric? It is only the lives of you and your associates…” 

“Alright and we can’t blame Varric for the fucking expl…” Maria broke in helplessly. 

“My friends!” Varric exclaimed over top of her. “Not like  _ you _ have any!” 

“Varric!” She seethed, spearing him with a gaze she sincerely hoped conveyed that if he didn’t shut up, fast, she was going to let him keep digging his own tomb. 

“The Inquisition needed a leader!” Cassandra turned on her heel and stormed to the nearest window, glaring outside. “If Hawke…” 

“The Inquisition  _ has _ a leader!” Varric protested between gritted teeth, waving his hand to take in Maria’s form. “A damn fine one. Probably the  _ best _ one you could’ve asked for.” 

He wasn’t even looking at her. He was glaring daggers at Cassandra, and he’d probably just said it to irritate her, but that didn’t stop Maria’s eyes from bulging with surprise and her breath from catching in her throat. A secret, silent warmth creeped up from her toes. 

_ A damn fine one. The best one you could’ve asked for. _

She was a fucking idiot. They were just words, words anyone could’ve said. They shouldn’t mean as much as they did. She shouldn’t clutch them to her heart greedily. Shouldn’t try to remember when someone had ever sounded so fucking proud of her. 

She whipped her eyes from Varric’s determined face back to Cassandra. She wasn’t looking at Varric anymore, but out the window, shoulders curling defensively. “Go.” She ordered. “Just… just go, Varric.” 

Varric’s clenched jaw didn’t ease when he swung his eyes to Maria. The tip of his head back towards the door was a silent invitation to go with him, to leave Cassandra alone and miserable, to take off with Varric and his own temper still curling his fingers into fists, danger rolling off of him in waves. 

“Go.” She directed in a whisper. “I’ll catch up later.” 

When he was safe again. When he didn’t set her teeth on edge. After she’d had time to think through that uttered statement that lit up her shadowy soul. Varric didn’t question her, he just nodded and finally eased one hand long enough to tug it through his long hair as he glared at Cassandra’s back. He nodded, just once, turning silently on his heel. 

Maria had just enough time to think he was done before he looked back over his shoulder and pierced Cassandra with another glare. “Do you know what I think? I think if Hawke had been at the conclave she’d be dead too. You people have done enough to her.” 

Then Varric’s amber gaze shifted to her and he frowned, suddenly looking much older than he was, aged before his time in one simple gesture. “And I think they’ll do it to you too.” 

Maria’s pride bristled and she straightened. “I’m a big girl, Varric. I can handle myself.” 

She didn’t know what to make of his sad smile, his simple shrug, the way he couldn’t quite meet her eyes as he turned back. “Alright, Princess.” 

Then he was gone, infuriatingly gone, leaving Maria with a buzzing inside her and Cassandra’s gloomy spectre behind her. 

“He is right.” Cassandra said softly. “If only about one thing.” 

“I don’t know if I would go so far as to say he’s right about anything.” Maria joked weakly. Cassanda shook her head before leaning against the cool glass and peering out at the world. “Tell him once, we’ll probably never hear the end of it.” 

“If we had found Hawke, the Maker may not have sent you.” Cassandra said softly. Maria scoffed. 

“I was not  _ sent _ anywhere by some holy power.” She reminded Cassandra tersely. 

“Even if that is also true.” Cassanda straightened and pressed her palm against the glass instead, continuing to frown. “You are what we needed when we needed it. I will forever be grateful.” 

“Fucking ancestors.” Maria rubbed at her pinkening cheeks. “Why are you all being so  _ nice _ ? Do I have a terminal illness nobody told me about?” 

“I have made mistakes.” Cassandra set her jaw and turned back to Maria, tense and wary. “I should have made Varric see why we needed Hawke, I shouldn’t have trusted him at his word. I should have taken better measures to protect the conclave. I should not have left you at Haven. I… I am uncertain if I deserve to be here.” 

“Cassandra.” Maria indicated herself. “I’m a Carta criminal who was selling illegal lyrium at the conclave and just happened to not die, somehow. Are we  _ really _ talking about who does and doesn’t deserve to be here because if we are…” 

That made Cassandra smile and shake her head. “It is indeed a strange time, isn’t it?”

Maria shrugged. “I’m still not certain this isn’t some crazy dream. I thought it was, at first. My favorite author showing up on top of a damn mountain? It  _ seemed  _ like a dream.” 

A flicker of concern rose to Cassandra’s features. “Be careful of Varric, Inquisitor. He…” 

“Deserves to be here as much as the rest of us. He’s trying. He didn’t  _ need _ to bring Hawke here. But he didn anyway. You can’t go around punching him, or really anyone.” Maria ordered 

Cassandra simply sighed and nodded. “If you wish him here… but I will be watching him. I am… I am uncertain as to what he wishes from you. I do not… I do not wish to see you hurt or…” 

Cassandra was flushing pink as well, running one hand through her short hair in embarrassment. 

“I’m a big girl.” Maria repeated. “I can take care of myself.” 

She always had. 

* * *

She found Varric staring up at a tower she swore hadn’t been there before, standing in the middle of the courtyard. Even though his eyes were pointed firmly upon it, it didn’t take an expert to tell he wasn’t seeing it. She wasn’t alone in observing him, Cole sat with his back to Varric, hidden from the man’s view by the low wall surrounding the garden. She slipped silently to Cole’s side, looking down at the daisies he was twisting into a crown. 

Maria loved daisies. Cole looked up with a shy, sweet smile and nodded as if to say he knew. Maria ruffled his hair gently and leaned against the low wall, eyes on Varric. 

Andraste, the way the last rays of the sun illuminated him, turned his hair into a fiery halo, made the gold in his ears blindingly bright. She watched him tear his hand through his hair again with a little huff of exasperation, lips pulled down at the corners. Then he simply leaned against one of the stone benches and dropped his forehead into his arms. 

She’d never seen him look so despondent, so achingly vulnerable. Varric, unaware of her gaze on his shoulders or Cole hiding behind the wall, dropped all the artifice from his body, revealed the truth under all of it, someone bare and beautiful. Someone she suspected felt things far more deeply than he let on, particularly if this showdown with Cassandra had upset him so much, driven him to this quiet contemplation. 

There was no trace of violence or anger left in him, no hint of danger in the air. Nothing but silence and sunlight. 

“He’s more shattered than he shows.” Cole whispered. “But you have gentle hands underneath all the blood. You could hold him the way she never could and he would only touch you the way you like. You wouldn’t be sad.” 

“It’s okay, Cole.” Maria murmured, hoisting herself over the wall. The gentle thump of her feet hitting the ground was enough to make Varric look up, a small smile trying to grace his lips. 

“Cassandra calmed down now.” Maria offered with a shrug. “I can personally vouch for your safety.” 

“Your dashing heroics never cease.” Varric’s smile warmed slightly. “My next book is writing itself as we speak. Do you prefer being described as alluring or stunning?” 

He was trying to reassemble his mask, tie it back on. She waited, quietly, watching as he tried to stuff his vulnerability back where it had fallen loose from. “Varric, she didn’t mean it.” 

“She did.” Varric stated sourly. “And… dammit, she’s not entirely wrong. I had lots of opportunities to come clean about Hawke. If I’d have known about Corypheus…” 

“You couldn’t have known.” Maria pointed out. 

“If you’d have gotten yourself killed in that avalanche, if he’d have murdered you while I  _ listened _ …. Maker’s ass. I could kick myself everyday. If something would have happened to you, I’d never be able to forgive myself.” 

It was so close, so damn close to that declaration he made to  _ someone  _ else on the phone. She wondered if he knew the jolt it sent through her, the way it killed all the words in her throat and left her dizzy, breathless. “Varric…” 

“Listen, I know I need to do better. For you. And I will, I promise.” His smile, uncharacteristically earnest, made her weak in the knees. “I’m sorry, Princess.” 

Five steps. Maybe six. That’s how many she could take to throw herself into his arms. He’d wrap them around her again, the way he had before, bring her flush to his body and eclipse her in his warmth. She didn’t even need to kiss him, although she wanted that too, but what she wanted more was to bury her face in his shoulder and confess her uncertainty about  _ everything _ , her fears, the weight that felt so heavy on her shoulders. 

And the joy. 

The sheer, utter perfection of  _ finally _ feeling like she’d come home again. Looking out on a sea of faces knowing nobody sneered behind their hands, knowing she was respected, knowing she  _ belonged _ for once in her damn life. That Bea was safe and Maria could sleep in peace at night. She didn’t know if he would understand any of it. But if she took five steps, she could find out. She surprised herself with the first one, an unsteady lurch into the abyss. The second came a bit easier. 

But when her foot hit the ground the third time, they were attacked by a ball of feathers and fluff dive bombing Varric’s ear for that  _ blighted _ earring. Maria stopped short as Varric swore, batting at the bird and clutching his ear.

“Found him!” Dorian crowed from above. Maria ripped her eyes from Varric fending off the bird to peer up at the witch leaning out one of windows in the tower above. Dorian waved at her happily. “And you’ve joined us! Splendid, come take a look at your utterly perfect new witch’s retreat.” 

If she had her gun, she’d have shot him. As it was, she let her dismayed gaze fall back on Varric while the squawking bird finally took off, affronted. Varric, huffing, glared after it before shooting an annoyed glance at the tower.

Just in time for something to ominously rumble within. Dorian looked over his shoulder, stunned, and Varric groaned. He rubbed his face briskly and said the name under his breath like a curse as thick smoke began to roll from the uppermost tower windows. “_Hawke._" 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAWKE.


	38. The Bloody Backroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke's blood started this whole mess. She's willing to spill it to fix it, in spite of Varric not quite being sure that's a good idea.  
Cullen and Maria have a moment before she's got to haul a bunch of squabbling children down to Crestwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely birthday comments! They meant the world to me!

The windows in the ritual tower faced north, just like Vivienne wanted, so they were saved from the glare of the rising sun. Instead, while Varric sat quietly, resenting the early hour, the room gradually brightened. Hawke double checked her chalk runes one last time, smudged one of them slightly, then redrew it just a bit more to the left. 

Beside him, Maria yawned into her elbow and blinked blearily over the steam rising from her mug. She took her coffee with so much milk and sugar that the beverage appeared more white than dark. He could smell the sweetness of it in the air even over his own more respectable brew. 

He could smell it because Maria stood so maddeningly close that their arms brushed occasionally, casually. Stood closer to him than she’d been in ages, and like that wasn’t distracting  _ enough _ …

She was wearing his sweatpants. Again.

Oh, they couldn’t actually be  _ his _ sweatpants. His sweatpants, stolen by Cole for Maria’s personal use, met their icy and fiery doom in Haven. But the ones she wore were damn near identical, faded as if they’d been washed and rewashed a hundred times and too large on her by far, tied around her hips with the drawstrings dangling low.

Hawke kept looking at them, tipping her head to the side every time, like she was trying to figure out where she’d seen them before. Maker help him if she finally made the connection because he’d truly feel bad throttling her after she commented on it. Varric would even shed a tear. 

Although judging by the stormy looks from some of the attending crowd, he was far more likely to have to save Hawke than kill her himself. Maria looked relaxed, so did Dorian when he plopped into place on her other side without waiting for an invitation. Varric noted the human looked far too awake and put together for the asscrack of dawn. Solas, too, perched leisurely in one of the windows watching calmly, Nyx eating bird seed from his hand. 

It was Cullen and Cassandra that wore matching scowls when Hawke stood from her work and rolled her shoulders. The two guarded the opposite end of the room, pointedly ignoring him while observing Hawke. His friend nodded, once, then looked to Maria. “Ready to find us a Warden, Inquisitor?” 

“And you’re  _ sure _ this isn’t going to blow a hole in my roof?” Maria asked, not bothering to look up from her mug. 

“Alright, how was I supposed to know that if the orichalum got too close to…” Hawke protested. 

“Any child in Tevinter would know it.” Dorian sniffed. “It says  _ everything  _ we need to know about your Southern education system.” 

Hawke ignored him, frowning at Maria. “I still think your castle is being a  _ bit _ dramatic about the whole thing.” 

The second he and Hawke dragged themselves back into this tower, the steps to the second floor alchemy lab cleanly folded up and vanished. They’d yet to reappear. Varric hadn’t been able to resist chuckling at that. 

“What do you require first?” Solas asked, dumping the remaining seed on the windowsill and straightening. Hawke held her hand out, frowning at her strange runes again. “Map, please.” 

Varric once made fun of Solas for his paper maps. Who knew he’d have to eat his words? Hawke settled on her knees in the middle of her chalk circle, unfolding the pastel colored map in front of her, frowning at the crisscrossing highways and roads. She brushed her fingers over them before she raised them into the air, snapping them together.

Flames jumped to life on the candles spaced equidistant around her, burning too high, too bright for a moment. Long enough for Maria to recoil on instinct, fingers tightening on her mug, curling slightly into Varric’s bulk. Hawke flashed a not-quite apologetic enough smile and lifted her hand again. “Athame.” 

Solas handed over the fancy ritual knife with solemn respect. Hawke tossed it up in the air rather more lightheartedly, eyes still glued to Maria. “What do you know about magic, Inquisitor?” 

“More than I did a month ago.” Maria finally set her mug down behind them on the table, deciding she would rather not be holding a steaming hot beverage for this. Smart woman. Varric liked to live dangerously, he sipped at his in defiance. 

“It’s a tool.” Hawke stated, clenching her jaw. “And rituals like this need ingredients. The right one for the right ritual. You can’t make a cake with salt instead of sugar.” 

“You can, actually.” Dorian pointed out. “It is just a rather terrible cake.” 

Hawke waved the athame threateningly in Dorian’s direction and Maria bristled as Hawke snapped. “Do you  _ ever _ shut up?” 

“Says the woman explaining elementary magic while waving around a ritual dagger!” Dorian exclaimed. “Do get on with it before the demon you unleashed shows back up again to finish the job.” 

“I’m just trying to stave off the inevitable shouting from my stand-in disapproving parents the second I slice my arm open!” Hawke declared hotly. 

“Hold on just a moment…” Cassandra leapt into action, hand going for the gun she wasn’t actually wearing. Hawke lifted one eyebrow and speared Maria with a gaze that clearly said ‘see what I mean?’ 

“I knew I should have stayed in bed today.” Maria groaned under her breath, rubbing her forehead with her palm. 

“Absolutely not.” Cullen stepped into Hawke’s circle, the candles burning brighter in warning. “Blood magic is forbidden and  _ you _ should know the cost of it better than…” 

“It  _ isn’t _ blood magic.” Hawke rolled her eyes skyward and shot Varric a pleading look. Like he could actually help her. He didn’t know this shit, although he was  _ fairly _ certain Hawke should give up playing with blood. After all, hers had been the key ingredient to breaking Corypheus out of his cell. “Blood magic involves calling  _ power _ from inside the blood, draining the life out of it.  _ This _ is just an ingredient in a spell.” 

“A finding spell.” Dorian mused thoughtfully, looking over to meet Solas’s eyes. The elf nodded tersely. “Blood finding blood. Should I assume you and the Warden we’re looking for are related?” 

“She’s my cousin.” Hawke spat. “There’s only three of us left, the Amells and Hawkes. I can find her when nobody else can, but this is the  _ only _ way. Chantal isn’t fucking stupid. She’s not going to leave a trail.” 

“This may not be blood magic, but it is riding a technicality.” Cassandra declared imperiously. 

Cullen’s face flushed in temper, a vein throbbing in his temple. “Chantal wouldn’t want you practicing blood magic to… after what happened in the tower, after Jowan…” 

“After her friend found a book the templars planted and tried out a little blood magic?” Hawke asked sarcastically. “Because seventeen year old kids make the best decisions as well all know. Did you stick up for her when they were going to make her tran…” 

“Alright.” Maria declared smoothly, shoving away from the table. “I’m not dealing with… whatever is going on here.” 

“Hawke is a danger to herself and others.” Cullen snapped. “She is impetuous and reckless.” 

“Well, in that case, maybe you should have let Meredith gut me like a fish.” Hawke drawled, tapping the flat of the blade against her arm. “Saved yourself the trouble.”

“Do not make me regret…” Cullen threatened. 

“The one moment of decency you ever had?” Hawke suggested snidely. 

“Cassandra!” Maria slammed her palm on the table behind her, the sound drawing all eyes to her. “Is or is this not blood magic? More importantly, am I going to be up to my ass in demons if we let her do this?” 

“It is unlikely.” Cassandra glared at the dagger in Hawke’s hand. “Some rituals like this were approved, in prior years, for research purposes. They were closely supervised.” 

“Excellent.” Maria stated, eyes sliding to Cullen. “You’re here. Closely supervising. What’s the damn…” 

“I refuse to be a part of this!” Cullen yelled. “She is a madwoman who puts her own needs ahead of...” 

“I’m the only one who’s  _ trying _ to do anything to help beyond your remarkably patient Inquisitor.” Hawke seethed. 

“Cullen!” Maria raised her voice as well. “This decision has been made.” 

“You don’t know. I’ve seen the worst of this kind of magic, this attitude of ‘do what must be done.’” Cullen glared at Maria. “You must set a better…” 

“I’m sorry.” Maria tossed her hair over her shoulder and glared up at Cullen, indignant fury making her appear just as intimidating as the man looming over both her and Hawke. “I thought I was supposed to give the orders, not be told what I  _ have _ to do.” 

A part of Varric whispered that he  _ certainly _ wouldn’t mind taking orders from her. Who knew how well she’d wear both her temper and the commanding aura of the Inquisitor? It brought a flush to her cheeks, iron to straighten her spine. He wouldn’t get in her way when she wore that expression. Apparently, Curly agreed. He wrenched his gaze away from Maria’s steely eyes. “On your head be it.” 

With that spiteful remark, the former templar nearly bowled over the Seeker in his effort to escape. Everyone watched him go in stunned, loaded silence. Varric saw Maria waver, looking to Cassandra for something, permission or perhaps, at least, acceptance. 

“He has his reasons.” Cassandra shrugged uneasily.

“They better be damn good ones.” Maria snapped. “ _ You _ people wanted me to…” 

“I know.” Cassandra sighed, rubbing her own forehead. “The choice is yours. I will support it, even if I am uneasy.” 

“The ritual  _ should _ be safe, Inquisitor. Provided the Champion has described the intent of it accurately.” Solas nodded as if to himself, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Of course, Serah Hawke did choose not to inform us of this little caveat yesterday.” Dorian rumbled disapprovingly. 

“It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission sometimes.” Hawke shrugged, but she too looked uneasy under Maria’s searching gaze. “You can trust me, I swear. Champion’s honor and right hand up to the Maker.” 

Maria didn’t quite look convinced. She flipped her eyes from Hawke and pinned Varric with them instead like an interesting specimen under a microscope. She tipped her head barely to the right, a silent question. 

“I trust Hawke with my life.” Varric stated evenly. “She’s never let me down.” 

“That isn’t strictly true.” Hawke twirled the knife in between her fingers anxiously. “Once, I forgot I was supposed to come up with some emergency to pull him out of a meeting. Poor Varric had to sit through the whole thing. Didn’t talk to me for a week.” 

Maria made a decision, nodded to herself with a clenched jaw. “Right. Do it then.” 

“Thank Andraste.” Hawke sighed, relieved, looking down at the map. “Thought we were gonna have our panties in a twist about  _ that _ all day. Now if everyone could  _ please _ stop polluting my nice casting circle with your negative energy…” 

Cassandra and Maria stepped back, now on the opposite side of the room, staring at Hawke while she rolled up one of her sleeves. Without even flinching, his Champion slid the blade along the pale skin of her forearm, red welling to the surface in beads before falling down her skin like tears, onto the map below her. 

“Freely flow, crimson that binds.” Hawke began, the candles flickering around her as a light gust of wind blew her dark hair from her face. “Use this power, help me find…” 

As Varric watched, the blood seemed to seep into the paper of the map, vanishing completely. The candles turned to torches, eclipsing even the sun coming through the windows. Hawke continued, smiling as she felt the magic race through her veins. 

The witches always said magic was like being at a rave on all the best drugs. At times like this, Varric could see it too. 

“Blood I seek, come to me. Wherever you hide, the sun shall see.” Hawke demanded the map in front of her. Just like that, the candles snuffed themselves out, leaving Hawke alone in the sunlight streaming through the windows. For a second, everyone was still. 

Then the map  _ glowed _ . Varric heard Maria make a small, startled gasp. The power rippled through the paper, rustling it before it vanished in a bright burst. Hawke pulled her bleeding arm away and watched closely. 

The droplets of blood reappeared slowly, marking a meandering path across Ferelden’s highways. Varric took one step closer to watch as the blood trail stopped, a larger blot of scarlet marking the end of the line. Hawke grinned and looked up. “Chantal’s outside of Crestwood.”

“Are you shitting me?” Maria asked, leaning in from the opposite edge of the circle to watch the map reveal the Warden’s hiding place. 

“I know.” Hawke fanned herself with the arm that wasn’t bleeding. “I rock.” 

“She couldn’t be  _ anywhere _ else?” Maria demanded. Hawke frowned, annoyed. 

“No. She’s near Crestwood.” The unsaid ‘obviously’ hung in the air. “She can’t be anywhere else. My magic is spot on.” 

“Crestwood is the  _ worst _ place she can be right now.” Maria pulled back, rubbing her forehead with her marked palm. “You’re not going to believe this, but Leliana and Josephine say there are fucking zombies attacking Crestwood.” 

“Oh.” Hawke wilted and stared down at the map. “Actually, I do believe that. It’s just my luck.” 

“Zombies?” Dorian asked, almost gleefully. “You of course mean reanimated corpses. I’ve heard there are Nevarran…” 

“Well, Dorian just volunteered to go.” Maria stated sourly, pulling her phone from her pocket. “Cass, can you figure out who else wants to take a field trip out of the castle to go find a warden? I’ll tell Josie and Leliana. I think they said we have jeeps now, we could probably get them down the mountain pass..” 

“We should leave as soon as possible, Inquisitor.” Hawke advised. “My cousin won’t stay still for long.” 

“Right.” Maria blew out her breath and nodded. “Right. As soon as we can leave. Cass, let me know.” 

And with that, Maria turned on her own heel, hips rolling suggestively in his sweatpants, making it a bit hard to think. Still, he managed to get out the question. “Wait, Princess, you’re not gonna stay and finish your coffee?” 

“Cullen and I aren’t done by a long shot!” She yelled back over her shoulder. “You can drink it!”

“I would advise against that, honestly.” Dorian murmured, peering into the pale liquid distastefully. “You can hardly call that abomination she drinks coffee.” 

“Familiar with her coffee preferences now?” Varric asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral, masking his irritation. 

“Hah! Her sugar preferences, more likely.” Dorian sniffed, picking up her abandoned mug. “Who knew she would like things so syrupy sweet or that  _ you _ would be so obtuse.” 

Varric opened his mouth to argue, but it was the look on Hawke’s face that stopped him short. She had  _ that _ look, the one like she swallowed a lemon whole. It was the one she wore when Aveline was right, and they all knew it, but nobody liked it. 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Varric.” Hawke exclaimed. “And after I stop bleeding, we’re going to go over how much of an idiot in extensive detail.  _ Extensive. _ ”

Varric wished it was the first time he’d ever heard that statement. 

* * *

Maria carefully rehearsed the argument she was about to embark on. Cullen, after all, always proved reliable. She could rattle off his objections by rote without really even consulting him, like some guardian angel perched on her shoulder. Hell, she wasn’t even certain he was the whole way wrong. She  _ certainly _ didn’t like the idea of people getting into the habit of slitting their arms open all the time. It seemed messy and unsanitary, to say the least, plus immensely disturbing. Hawke  _ definitely _ should have told them  _ what _ she wanted to do before just deciding to do it, but Maria couldn’t blame her the whole way for that either. She had a point about forgiveness and permission. 

But, Maria  _ trusted _ Solas and Dorian. Including Vivienne, they were her experts on what exactly constituted safe and unsafe magical practices. And if Cullen didn’t like it, that was fine. What  _ wasn’t _ fine was waving a sanctimonious finger in her face and storming off like a toddler throwing…

She slammed through the door to his office, eyes barely focusing on Cullen’s broad form bent nearly double over his desk. She hardly opened her mouth before his arm lashed out, sending the container in front of him flying towards her. 

She twisted to the left on reflex even though the object went wide regardless, shattering against the cold stone to the right of the door. She registered the sound of splintering wood, cracking glass, as she flailed for the stone wall behind her with one hand to ground herself back to the castle, back to the present, back to…

_ The empty bottle of vodka nearly hit the side of her head, which would have been worse than it shattering harmlessly on the wall. As it was, her jaw throbbed, but she refused to place a hand over the part she knew would bruise. “One simple job…” Dwyka seethed, big feet crunching the shattered glass beneath his boots as he approached. “Can you not even handle one simple job, Cadash?”  _

“Maker’s breath!” The closest Cullen ever got to swearing. He hurried to her side, booted feet crunching the glass, one hand reaching out for her shoulder, dark fury written on every line of his face. “Are you-” 

“Don’t touch me.” She flinched back, pressing her marked, aching palm against the stone. Cullen froze in response to her order, shooting a despairing glance not at her, but at the broken object at their feet. His hand curled into a fist and he dropped it to his side like a stone.

“I’m a fool.” He declared. Maria watched him, wary of his every movement, but Cullen’s anger seemed directed only towards himself and the box. “I could have hurt you. Or anyone else that happened to… Maker’s breath. I’m sorry, Inquisitor. Please forgive me.”

The fight went out of him, leaving nothing but a pit of despair that he visibly sank into while he cast despondent eyes at the mess on the floor. Maria chanced looking away from him long enough to examine the ruins of whatever he’d thrown. Wood, decorative and ornate. Glass. Some sort of mechanism to inject… 

And lyrium. She could feel it in her teeth, the same way she always could, a bright pulse of power she barely understood but would recognize anywhere after so long smuggling it. The blue powder shimmered in the early morning light. 

“Why are you throwing your lyrium kit at the walls?” She asked, unwilling to move closer to comfort him, but curious in spite of herself. “I don’t know how many extras we have for you to be destroying…” 

“I do not require it.” Cullen stated, biting the inside of his cheek and refusing to look at her. “We have enough kits for the templars who remain, although securing a reliable source of lyrium to resupply is essential. We will have enough to last a week, perhaps two, particularly since I no longer take it.” 

At first, she thought she’d misheard. She stared at him, trying to process, before echoing him. “You stopped taking lyrium? You just  _ stopped _ ?” 

Templars didn’t  _ stop _ taking lyrium. Dwykwa used to laugh and say it was the one part of his business he could always count on going well. Templars used until they died, either responsibly under care of Chantry, or illicitly care of Maria Cadash and all the other Carta rats scurrying around Thedas. 

Templars, for all their importance, were really just junkies waiting to fall into the Carta’s arms. 

“After Kirkwall… I had considered it.” Cullen admitted. “Surviving the madness that was Meredith changed me. Made me leave the templars. But I continued to take lyrium until… until I saw what became of my brothers and sisters at Haven. I… I thought I recognized some of them.” 

Once, the monsters that destroyed Haven had been people. She’d forgotten, or blocked it out. Maybe she had to, to survive it all. Cullen didn’t have that luxury, she guessed, not when it could have been him. 

Not when he may have recognized the faces behind the grotesque red lyrium madness. 

“How long?” Maria asked softly. “How long since you took your last dose?” 

“That night.” Cullen admitted, finally meeting her eyes. “The night Haven was attacked.” 

Balls. The poor man had to be most of the way into withdrawal. She should have noticed sooner, should have figured out the stick up his ass was more implacable than normal. She sighed. 

“I understand if you have concern over my ability to perform my duties.” Cullen retreated into careful, studied formality. The kind that seemed so bizarre and old-fashioned to her. “I meant to inform you, but there were so many other pressing items of business. I cannot guarantee that I am the best person to lead the troops, if you would like my resignation I would offer it.” 

He would, Cullen didn’t lie. And even as he said it, Maria saw the desperation lurking around his eyes. He would turn over his command if she asked, because he was a good soldier and they had made her their leader, but he didn’t  _ want _ to. She wondered if, perhaps, it was the only thing still driving him out of bed everyday. 

“You’ll inform Josephine and Leliana.” Maria instructed quietly. She saw Cullen tense, but she kept going. “Of what you’re doing and that you’re designating a second in command. I don’t care who it is, Rylen seems fine if you want my opinion. The second can jump in if you’re jonesing too bad to do something and can make sure your judgment isn’t going to shit.” 

“Inquisitor I am uncertain if this is wise.” Even as he said it, Maria saw Cullen’s eyes dancing with shocked hope. “If word gets out…” 

That the Carta criminal turned semi-heretical religious figure had a junkie running her army? Sweet mother of Andraste, whatever they were paying Josephine was  _ not _ enough. “We’ll deal with it.” She declared. 

Cullen’s shoulders relaxed, his fist uncurled. A small, crooked smile that looked both pleased and shy made him look boyish. Young. It softened her temper just enough.

Maria held his gaze, still determined to make a point. “I’ll cut you a pass on whatever the fuck just happened in the ritual tower, but I don’t want to reamed out like a naughty kid again.  _ Especially _ in front of other people.” 

His frown returned in force. “There is a cost to drawing power through the means Hawke advises we use. The Champion of Kirkwall is a tempest, for all the good she has done, she is  _ dangerous _ . What she advocates blurs the lines between good and evil and she knows it.” 

Maria knew those lines were always blurry, and Hawke wasn’t the first one to settle in the foggy area between them. “I’ve seen it.” Cullen looked haunted, hollow. “I’ve seen what comes from treading this path.” 

“If there’s a price to pay, I’ll make sure I’m the one that pays it.” Maria insisted, pushing away from the wall to walk closer to the shattered lyrium kit, careful not to step on any of the pieces. She hunkered down next to it and frowned. 

“You can’t guarantee that.” 

“Yes I can.” Maria knew how to take a blow, after all. She looked up at Cullen and jerked her chin over her shoulder. “Take a walk and I’ll clean this up. No reason to fucking torture yourself with it.” 

“Inquisitor, I can’t…” Cullen began to insist. 

“That’s an order Cullen.” Maria decreed without looking up. “Take a walk and let me deal with this.” 

“I… if that is what you wish. Inquisitor. Thank you.” 

She didn’t see him salute, but she wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if he did. He walked away, the door shutting gently behind him with a soft thud. In the silence, Maria looked down at the mess and repressed a shiver. 

It was time to clean up the pieces and start over. Maybe for all of them. 

* * *

Maria huddled under the blanket in the backseat of the jeep, staring down at her phone thoughtfully. The wind whipped past, the soft top of their vehicle rolled down in spite of the cutting cold, mostly to fit the hulking Qunari driving in front of her. Maria, luckily, didn’t need the leg room because Bull had the seat pushed back to it’s limit. Instead, she curled up underneath the blankets Dorian layered around them, the hood of her coat pulled around her face. 

> **Leliana**: The mines outside of Ostwick still have a skeletal crew, despite payments and supplies being shipped sporadically since your departure. It seems Dwyka did not take the care you did to see them looked after.    
**Maria**: Shocking. Let me guess, he still expected lyrium?    
**Leliana**: Fear kept the mines operational in spite of his carelessness. My agent has made tentative inquiries about their willingness to supply the Inquisition.    
**Maria**: I’m sure that went well.    
**Lelaina**: It did indeed! They have more respect for you than you suspect, it seems you have been adept at breeding loyalty for many years.    
**Maria**: You’re joking.   
**Leliana**: I am not. We can see them supplied and these mines will solve the issue of locating a reliable source of lyrium. Shall I execute an agreement? 

Maria drummed her fingers on her thigh thoughtfully. They needed lyrium for the templars that had stuck with the Inquisition, but also to power the witches who formed the fragile wall around the refugees and civilians calling Skyhold home. If they were attacked again, they needed every advantage.

But could she risk stealing Dwyka’s lyrium mines? 

The very thought of it made bile rise up her throat. When he found out, he’d be furious, and so much of the past years had been about trying desperately not to make him angry. She’d spent so long walking a tightrope, hiding the things that would set him off, swallowing her own temper, shoving her own words into her pockets... 

When he found out, what would he do to her? To Bea? 

_ Nothing _ . A brave, reckless part of her insisted he couldn’t do anything to her, not anymore. Bea was tucked safely in the bright, bejeweled room Skyhold provided for her, helping Josephine sweet talk everyone into order. There was a magic castle surrounding her sister and a small army of soldiers and witches. 

Maria herself had a pistol strapped to her hip. Would she get away with shooting him? Would he dare risk crossing her now? 

Maybe. If he’d convinced himself there was something more than coercion and violence in their farce of a relationship… 

But there wasn’t. 

> **Maria**: Do it then.

Maria dropped her phone into her lap and looked back out to the countryside passing by, trying to ignore the nausea rising in her stomach by focusing on anything else. Getting out of the mountains had been the difficult part, but Cullen swore up and down he’d have the path clear by the time they came back. They were able to navigate into some old logging dirt roads, which led to a bumpy ride down the mountain, but at the bottom it was a quick turn back onto twisting backroads.

None of her advisors wanted them on the highways, but it wasn’t like they’d been reliable ways to travel  _ before _ Haven fell anyway. Ferelden had suffered in the witches’ war, perhaps more than anywhere beside Kirkwall. Unfortunately, it was going to take them hours longer to make it to Crestwood, navigating through towns that barely had stoplights, meandering down pothole infested country roads winding through the barest landscape Maria ever saw. For miles, there were only abandoned, ghostly looking farms complete with skinny, tall cows staring at them from the fields. Pickup trucks sat abandoned on the side of the road without a person in sight, nothing but the fog curling around wild looking crops and the never ending mist that couldn’t quite be called rain. 

“Quaint, isn’t it?” Dorian sniffed in clear disgust. “Nothing but rustic charm everywhere you look.” 

“These people had the right idea, hunkering down.” Bull mused strategically. “Farmers can support themselves for a long while, and most of them know how to shoot. Won’t do much against a pissed off templar or witch, but better than nothing.”

“What people?” Maria asked the back of Bull’s head. For all she could tell, they were the last people in the world beyond the other jeep driving in front of them containing Varric, Hawke, Harding, and Blackwall. 

“Someone is letting those cows out to graze, boss. Someone’s tending the fields. We won’t see ‘em though. As soon as they heard a car, they probably bolted to their root cellars. Bomb shelters if they’re doomsday preppers.” Bull instructed, shooting a glance in the rearview mirror and flashing her a small grin. “Missing their chance to meet the Inquisitor in the flesh.” 

Maria scoffed and dropped her eyes back to her phone. Dorian sighed. “Poor things. Meeting you probably would have been the most exciting thing that’s happened in years.” 

“If you do not count the war.” Cassandra grumbled. 

“Oh, I’m Tevinter.” Dorian preened, waving away her complaint. “We’ve been at war with the Qun for two generations. If I got all hot and bothered by a war…” 

Bull’s grin turned lascivious in a second. “Clearly, you’ve never seen the Berseerad in full armor or you’d change your tune.” 

“Vishante kaffas.” Dorian swore, wrinkling his nose. “Although, I must admit, I have been wondering how a decorated member of the Ben-Hassrath felt having a Vint behind him.” 

“Not the first time.” Bull winked. Dorian scowled. 

“Strange. Retired generals don’t leave Par Vollen. Almost  _ nobody _ leaves Par Vollen. What kind of man abandons the home he fought his whole life for?” Dorian asked pointedly. 

“Dorian…” Maria interjected. But Bull’s grin didn’t falter. 

“I’m just a man who saw the worst of his homeland and burned out. Like looking in a mirror for you isn’t it, Dorian?” 

The shock that rippled across Dorian’s features nearly made her laugh out loud, she bit her lip to suppress it. “I’m going to vomit.” He declared. 

“When we get out to stretch our legs, I’ll flex a little. Make it easier for you.” 

Cassandra scoffed but Maria broke out into giggles, hiding more of her face into the hood of her coat and looking down at the buzzing phone in her hand. She swiped to accept the message.

> **Harding:** We need to stop soon or Blackwall is going to strangle Hawke. 

Maria shook her head and sighed, typing her response. 

> **Maria**: What’s Varric doing?    
**Harding**: Taking notes for his next book, I think. 

She reached around the front seat to lightly tap Bull’s bicep. “Those four need to stop.” 

“Again?” Cassandra asked, indignant. 

“We may need to give Blackwall a break. Could you drive the other car, Cass?” Maria asked. 

Bad move. Cassandra immediately scowled. “I will not be stuck in a vehicle with that conniving…” 

Maria tapped an affirmative response to Harding as she interrupted the rant. “I’ll switch with Varric then and go with you.” 

“I refuse to be abandoned without your sparkling company so I will also be jumping ship.” Dorian informed her regally. 

“Told your sister I’d stick with you. Really don’t want a knife between my ribs when she finds out I let you off on your own.” Bull rumbled. 

Assigned seating. Her biggest challenge as Inquisitor was going to be  _ assigned seating _ . She tried not to despair as she pinched her nose. The mark in her hand prickled uncomfortably, the way it always did the second she started to stress herself out. “Alright then. Blackwall can just sit in Cassandra’s lap and we’ll let Hawke drive the other jeep.” 

She had hoped to reveal how unreasonable they were being, but Dorian simply stroked his mustache, amused. “Don’t be ridiculous. You would be the one sitting in someone’s lap, clearly.” 

“Hawke cannot drive.” Cassandra stated firmly. “She does not have a legitimate driver’s license.” 

“Wait, what?” Maria asked, intrigued, irritation momentarily forgotten. “All humans have driver’s licenses.” 

“She could not get one as a teenager due to the risk of exposing the family to undo scrutiny. So the Champion never received one.” Cassandra revealed. 

“Ancestors, Cass. Did you read the  _ whole _ manuscript of Varric’s book?” Maria asked. The resulting flush on Cass’s face answered her question nicely. Cass resolutely stared ahead, floundering to change the subject. 

“Do dwarves not receive driver’s licenses?” She asked. “Varric has his.” 

Varric and his family could afford the modified cars to drive in. Maria’s own father had a license, but only for one of the small police motorcycles he insisted Maria and Bea were never allowed on. “Dwarves have the good sense to live in cities, for the most part. Public transportation. Subways. Bodega coffee.” Maker, she missed the shitty bodega coffee. Who knew she would? 

“Karaoke bars. Rivaini takeout.” Dorian added on wistfully, looking around the desolate countryside. 

“You’re informing me that you can  _ hotwire _ a car, but you cannot drive one?” Cassandra whipped around to stare. 

Maria shrugged under her blankets. “I watched a lot of car thefts but I never drove off with the car.”

Bull chuckled warmly. “And that’s the story I want her sticking to. As her lawyer.” 

“I am informing Cullen.” Cassandra pulled out her own phone, frowning. “Somebody needs to teach you. It would not hurt to learn evasive maneuvers as well.” 

She wondered if that was  _ actually _ as cool as it sounded. Probably not. 

The gas station with one whole pump melted out of the fog and the turn signal on the jeep in front of them immediately blinked on. Blackwall turned so sharply into the parking lot that the tires threw up a spray of gravel. Bull coasted in behind them, but he hadn’t even thrown the car in park before Blackwall was fleeing from the inside of the other car, face red, followed by Hawke’s piercing laugh. 

“Cass, make sure he doesn’t get stomped to death by cows, please.” Maria requested, watching the man flee into the nearest field. 

“But please make sure you film it up to the death part. We could use a laugh.” Dorian added as Maria swung out of the car. Hawke had emerged from the other front seat, still laughing, eyes sparkling. From the backseat, Varric followed. The smile he wore curled up in amusement, his own eyes laughing. 

For a second, the whole world brightened in spite of the fog. 

Dorian wrapped one arm around her shoulders and tugged her to his side as they sidled up to the store proper. She dropped her eyes to his strong, sure fingers curling into her shoulder and then swept them back up to his face. “What are you doing?” 

“Escorting you into this decrepit hole in the wall. And annoying someone.” Dorian offered up the explanation that was no explanation at all like it made perfect sense. 

“Is the person you’re annoying me?” Maria asked, nearly tripping as Dorian’s long stride struggled to match hers. 

“My dear, I’m helping you. Trust me.” Dorian reassured, swinging the door open and poking his noble nose through like he could sniff out any danger. Maria looked over her shoulder, counting the team behind her like a farmer counting hens. Bull examined the gas pump, Harding at his elbow. Cass strode determinedly after Blackwall while Hawke watched. And Varric… 

Varric was looking at her, his smile dimming into something wistful. She tipped her head to the side, asking what was wrong without any words. 

He just shook his head, plastering on that genial face again, leaving her unsure she had seen anything at all. She tried to ignore how empty that feeling was. 

Dorian ushered her into the store, frowning at the darkened aisles. “Lovely. How much of this junk food do you suppose is expired?” 

“Oh!” Hawke darted past quickly, brilliant as a brightly colored bird, grabbing a handful of some pre-packaged pastry off the shelf and turning to Maria with a grin. “You can’t get these in the Free Marches. Varric used to have them on auto-ship to my house. They’re stuffed with mocha frosting, you’d love them.” 

She probably would. Dorian might object to the treasure trove of junk food, but Maria could gladly purchase one of everything to take back to Skyhold. She wondered if they even had shitty coffee they could make for her. 

With lethal and agile grace, Hawke inserted herself smoothly between Maria and Dorian, dragging Maria down the aisle to the cash register. “Varric’s such a mom.” Hawke confided softly. “But dammit if I could complain when these kept showing up. He’s got a soft mocha center too, you know. Under all that chest. I bet he’s just as delic..” 

Oh she was  _ not _ having this conversation with Hawke. It felt too raw. Felt too much like a memory of this woman (not  _ this _ woman. This one was too bright, too unbroken) pushing him back into her as she burned alive. She couldn’t confront that. Not here, not outside of Skyhold’s walls. 

“There’s nobody here.” Maria interrupted. “Think they abandoned it?” 

“More for us!” Hawke declared brightly. “Do you think they have those chewy caramels? They’re Varric’s favorite.” 

“I’m sorry.” Dorian smirked from another aisle, looking up from his critical examination of a bag of chips. “Chewy caramels? Is he secretly an eighty year old grandmother?” 

“Listen here, Magister. Those are potato chips, normal, non-soul sucking people like to eat them.” Hawke explained with wide-eyed innocence. “No elves to do your bidding. It’s understandable you’re confused.” 

Maybe they all just liked to argue with each other. Maria ignored their sniping and hoisted herself up and over the counter, turning to the cash register. Something in this place felt wrong, made her right arm tingle, a warmth bursting to life in her palm. She frowned at the register and slammed her fist into it just right to make the cash drawer pop open with a familiar clatter. 

That silenced the bickering. Maria looked up to find Hawke staring at her with wonder written on her features, warring with something that looked like admiration. “Holy balls, that was sexy. Do it again! Or, actually, teach me to do it.” 

“You’re a witch, you can’t just make it open?” Maria asked, waving at the register. 

“I could, but you made it look so much cooler.” Hawke perched her elbows on the counter, leaning on it and watching Maria sweep her gaze over the full drawer of cash. 

Something was wrong. If they abandoned this place, they didn’t abandon it with money left behind in the register. 

“Do you two feel something?” Maria asked, looking up and around the small space. “Anything?” 

“Intrigued and slightly aroused.” Hawke supplied a lewd wink with her comment. 

“Regret about some key life choices.” Dorian sighed, looking back down at the chips despondently. 

She brought the two most helpful witches on this little jaunt, apparently. Maria slipped from behind the counter, wary and anxious. Hawke and Dorian watched her, curious but not alert. 

Maria’s skin prickled. She felt something high-pitched in her teeth. She pointed her eyes at the cooler lining the far wall, rows of brightly colored bottles displayed with a dim blue light behind them. There was a small hallway to the side, restrooms tucked in one corner, a heavy door leading into the walk-in cooler to the left. 

Maria reached for the walk-in cooler door, wrapped her marked hand around the handle and paused, momentarily disoriented. She felt like the pressure dropped, her ears popped loudly. She swung her gaze from the door handle to the tile floor beneath her feet. 

Just in time to watch a crack appear from underneath the door, spreading from somewhere inside the cooler. 

“Cadash!” Dorian yelled, finally sensing the same wrongness. 

Before she could respond, the doors to the cooler shattered, glass scattering, bottles breaking and thrown, a mix of bright colors and fizzing liquid among the popping glass. A scream that raised all the hair on her arms cut through the air as something, a creature wreathed in shadow, climbed out over the shelves. When it turned to her, Maria stared into a face made of nothing but a circle of bright, pointed teeth in mottled blue-white flesh. It’s gaping maw was large enough to swallow her whole, shred her flesh to ribbons on those teeth, and pointed right at her. 

Shit, Mara thought, scrambling for her gun.  _ Shit. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most helpful of the witches. Where are Solas and Vivienne when you need them?! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's messaged me asking how I'm holding up under quarantine <3 My husband is still working a lot at the hospital and I'm still on lockdown (*shakes fist at my compromised immune system*) but we're not sick. Even if I do get sick - I don't have any respiratory or heart issues, so I'm not at risk for the worst complications. We're just being excessively cautious. 
> 
> I miss the outside world! And bars! And people! Even shitty gas station coffee. This chapter and Maria's musing on where all the people have gone probably reflects that. 
> 
> Stay safe, healthy, and sane (the hardest part! my anxiety is WILD right now!) all of you! Reach out if you wanna chat!


	39. The Rising Undead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric gets to play a part in a dashing rescue.  
Maria decides to save Crestwood.

The scene seemed to freeze as Maria reached for her sidearm. She wasn’t quick enough, she was  _ never  _ quick enough when she was staring into yet another thing with too many teeth. The demon didn’t move, the horrifying face pointed firmly in her direction like it could smell her fear. Her breath came out in a small puff of white condensation when she finally closed her fingers around the pistol’s rough grip. She pulled it free, but the rumbling voice inside her skull stopped her short in the process of leveling it at the monster in front of her. 

_ You’ve already lost.  _

_ You’ve already failed.  _

_ There is nothing left.  _

_ You are alone. _

Alone. She could feel the darkness creeping in again just like when she struggled through the endless tunnels beneath Haven. Alone, and she was waiting for the truck with the lyrium stuffed in the wheel wells to show up at the docks, staring up at cold stars and remembering a wedding anniversary she couldn’t celebrate. Alone in bed, again, the anguish so heavy she could suffocate, wondering if  _ this _ was how dad felt before he… 

The gun felt right in her hand. Polished, gleaming metal reflecting the blue light of the coolers. It was pretty, honestly. Sometimes dangerous things were so  _ fucking _ pretty. Sometimes monsters came with beautiful faces and crooning voices. 

Then a click broke through the silence, too loud. Metal snapping open, then a whoosh of air that carried heat, scalding, blazing  _ heat _ . Maria flinched away from it, back into somebody’s strong grip. The despair loosened its hold just in time for her to panic before Dorian’s voice broke through the madness. “Whatever it’s telling you,  _ do _ remember it’s only trying to sweet talk you into its mouth.” 

A mouth full of razor sharp teeth, flashing in the light as it screeched, meeting the flames shooting towards it with a wall of sharp, sickly looking ice. The condensation threw up when the two forces met created a fine mist of steam that  _ nearly _ obscured the monster, but couldn’t obscure the witch standing in the midst of the sugary drink carnage, zippo blazing and flames circling her form. 

Unfortunately, the demon emerging from the shattered glass, attention fully focused on Hawke, was only part of the problem. The cooler door shuddered beside them and Dorian swore. Maria shoved him back against the opposing door behind them just in time, they fell through it into the bathroom while the heavy walk-in door nearly flew off its hinges. Another demon pushed its way out with a growl. Dorian fell flat on his back, Maria’s elbow perilously close to his groin as she crumbled on top of him. She barely had time to take in the grimy tile floor, the exposed plumbing of a dingy toilet before she scrambled up, leveling her pistol at the lumbering ghoul stumbling in after them.

It dug its claws into the drywall, gouging deep scratches into the paint before Maria’s shot landed right between its empty eye sockets. It made a sharp scream of agony before it fell, talons clawing at its own face and leaving the same horrid welts, skin flaking off in chunks, before it stilled like a spider on it’s back, limbs locked and frozen. 

Maria bolted back out the swinging door, nearly straight into the arms of a third demon wearing a gruesome red smile, teeth dripping some sort of terrible, sizzling bile. It reached out for her, but she was small, thank the Maker, and she ducked underneath it’s grasping reach, throwing her whole body into it’s back to send it staggering back towards Dorian.

“Cadash, GO!” He ordered, the terrible pulse of his magic echoing in her ears as he began to draw down his own power. Maria left the demon to Dorian, slipping into the gap between the cooler door, hanging crooked in the frame, and the wall. She stumbled into the dark, cavernous space behind it that held the rest of the store’s stock of soda and drinks. 

The second she did, she heard gunfire from the main store. Familiar voices shouting. She could pick out Varric’s over top of the rest. “Damn it, Hawke,  _ why _ is it you can’t be left alone for five damn minutes?” 

“Alright, to be fair…” Hawke sounded breathless, but there was a bubble of laughter in her voice. “I just wanted some snack cakes. This was all your pretty Inquisitor.” 

“Where  _ is _ the Inquisitor?” Blackwall demanded. 

“Back here!” She yelled over the sound of more shattering glass. She could feel the crack pulsing beneath her feet, a living thing, a wound that oozed into the world. She could make it out like an angry, dark scar in the blue light. A body lay next to it, his eyes gouged out, mouth opened in one last, agonized scream. The missing cashier. 

Poor bastard. 

Another sound of shattering, followed by gushing water. Dorian’s exuberant cursing was so loud she could hear it echoing inside the damn cooler. But it was Varric’s strangled, horrified shout that almost made her stop. 

“Sparkler, why the fuck are you not with her?” 

“I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment!” 

And they would be until she closed the crack underneath her. She knelt beside the body on the ground, placing her hand over the smoking rift. She could feel it reaching towards her, tugging on her fingers even as she thought the word she  _ always _ thought. 

_ Close _ . 

She didn’t know if it was an order or a prayer. Tendrils of darkness tried to wrap around her palm, but there was light sparking within the mark in her hand now, and the rift couldn’t quite get a grip on her. Even still, she felt it pulling her in, gravity, a vacuum, sucking  _ something _ through her skin. 

The world spun, the way it always did, but she didn’t stop struggling with it, pouring  _ whatever _ it wanted from inside her into the tear in the world, anything to fucking  _ close _ …

She didn’t see the corpse twitching beside her until it was too late. It lurched to the side, startling her from the corner of her vision. She wrenched her hand away from the crack, left hand raising her pistol, but not before rotten, diseased flesh circled her neck. 

The strangled sound she let out was barely audible as the zombie stood, dragging her up with it and throwing her against the metal shelves lining the shelves. She hit hard, breath whooshing from her lungs as she crumbled, gun skittering uselessly off into the darkest corners. She’d fallen on some of the shattered glass, she could feel it digging into her hands, slashing into her skin as she pushed up off the slick tile. 

Not fast enough.  _ How _ the bleeding hell did the undead thing move so fast? Every horror movie she’d watched with Bea hadn’t prepared her for the demon infested creature to be back on top of her, eyes glowing with malice. She struggled, nails singing into slick, slimy flesh as she tried to claw it’s dead, cold hands off her, the blood roaring into her ears. She was going to die, a panicked part of her thought, and then something would pilot her body around like a puppet without strings. 

Then the creature snarled, an agonized, wounded sound. It’s whole body lurched to the right from some impact and it’s grip on her neck loosened, dropping her to the tile once again. As soon as her knees cracked against the cold floor, a sharp blast echoed and the monster fell beside her. She struggled to catch her breath and looked up into the solid bulk of a man guarding her fallen form.

“C’mon Princess.” Varric crooned, shouldering his shotgun to reach down and pull her gently to her feet. “Come here, I’ve got you.” 

The former cashier had a hole in his head, one that was still smoking, and Varric was covered in suspicious looking blowback. He’d hit it damn hard to make it let go of her, and then he’d…

He’d rushed to her rescue like a sodding knight from a fairy tale is what he’d just done. She didn’t know whether to slap him or…

Or kiss him senseless. 

The crack was still smoking and she could still hear gunshots. That was the only thing that could force her back into the action, the thought of people,  _ her _ people fighting monsters she led them straight into. 

She shoved past Varric, collapsing beside the smoking crack again and slamming her glowing palm back down over it more fiercely, thinking the words with all the venom she could summon.  _ Close you son of a bitch.  _

Like it knew she was serious this time, that she fucking  _ meant _ it, the tear snapped close with an audible crack that reverberated in the dark, cold space. It took her breath away, made her blink as the shapes and sounds around her distorted, turned gray. She closed her eyes tight, willing the ghostly shimmer over everything away, but the second she did she swore she felt the room spin. She struggled to stand up off the slick floor, the glass, the oozing slime she didn’t want to think about.

“Easy.” Varric’s arm hooked around her waist, eased her the rest of the way up. “Easy, beautiful, let me…” 

Standing upright was hard, but he was solid, and she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t  _ help _ it. She leaned into him, dropped her face to his solid shoulder. He still smelled good, smelled like that cologne he wore their last night in Haven, a warm scent with hints of sandalwood. She twisted her marked palm into his jacket, over his heart, her other fingers curling into the broad muscles of his arm. He was an anchor in a world she seemed to be slipping away from, and if she just held onto him, if she just…

Whatever he was saying died on his tongue. Instead, in silence, he pressed one palm tightly to the small of her back and let his other hand slowly cradle the back of her head while he moved his head to tuck her under his chin. 

“Varric!” Cassandra yelled. “Are we clear?” 

Varric didn’t answer. He  _ needed _ to answer. Maria turned her face, tried to lift it from his shoulder but found it only made her head throb. Varric stared down at her, but it was too dim to read the expression on his face. She wished she could see it clearer, because the second she pointed her eyes up to him, his palm on her back pressed her even closer. 

“Varric!” Cassandra snapped impatiently. 

She echoed it with her own soft, whispered question. “Varric?” 

He smoothed his palm down over her hair and tore his eyes away, pointing them resolutely towards the shattered, broken cooler. “Clear. Could use some of that tonic Solas packed for our intrepid leader. Sooner would be better.” 

Maria groaned weakly, already dreading the taste, and buried her face back into his solid shoulder while Varric chuckled, the sound as rich and dark as chocolate. 

* * *

Varric could do without Hawke’s speculative gaze burning into the back of his neck. He focused instead on the color slowly coming back into Maria’s face as she sipped unhappily on the thermos of what she called ‘ass tonic’ in the passenger seat of one of the jeeps. Bull gave her a soda and a semi-smashed snack cake then stood above her, watching her recovery sternly. 

“You never punched a zombie in the kidneys for me, Varric.” Hawke’s amusement bubbled under her words. Varric pointedly didn’t look up at her. 

“Counterpoint.” He stated smoothly. “Do zombies have kidneys? Has anyone checked or is zombie anatomy one of the last true mysteries?” 

“Have I ever told you how charming I find your ability to deflect? It’s not annoying at all.” Hawke rapped her knuckles, hard, on the top of his head. “I saw you. Dashing  _ and _ heroic. If I were wearing panties, they’d have been across the room.” 

“Dare I ask why you’re not wearing underwear?” He ducked his head and pinched his nose, hard, but he could hear Hawke’s wicked grin. 

“I pack light, remember?” 

Oh, somehow he’d forgotten just how terribly wonderful Hawke could be. He laughed and shook his head, grinning up at her. “I’ll remember that when I write my next book about you. The Champion of Kirkwall always forgot to pack her damn knickers.” 

Before Hawke could retort, Dorian swanned by, Cassandra and Blackwall hot on his heels. “Well, my dear Inquisitor, you’ll be pleased to know that you appear to have stumbled onto the only crack in the veil within ten square miles.” 

“I have that kinda luck, remember?” Maria asked with a weary, chagrined smile. Dorian sighed theatrically in return. 

“An odd sort of luck.” Cassandra grimaced. “I am uncertain if we require more of it or less.” 

“Less would be good.” Bull advised. “If we’re taking opinions.” 

“You knew it was there. Far before I did.” Dorian mused, staring down at Maria as he stroked his luxurious facial hair. 

“That’s true.” Hawke turned her piercing gaze onto Maria. “I didn’t feel it either.” 

“Yes, but that’s not surprising. Second rate witch and all.” Dorian dropped down to his knees beside the open car door, lightly tapping the back of Maria’s knuckles with his fingers and ignoring Hawke’s warning growl. “May I?” 

“Only if you stop antagonizing Hawke.” Even as Maria spoke, she shifted the dreaded thermos from one hand to the other, allowing Dorian to examine her marked palm. He brushed his thumb over the sun engraved in her flesh, watched it light up with a dim flicker. 

“You knew it was there.” Dorian sighed, folding her fingers back over the gleaming sun. “But I suspect it knew  _ you _ were there as well.” 

Varric didn’t like the sound of that. He liked the look on Hawke’s face even less. “What does that mean?” 

“It means she’s a magnet for every hole in the world. Every time she walks into a place where the veil has cracked, there’s a chance she’s going to rip it back open again.” Hawke muttered darkly. “Even if it closed itself when she shut the vortex.” 

“What?” Maria’s strangled cry of alarm rang out across the abandoned parking lot. “Fuck  _ that _ . For how long?” 

Neither witch answered. Maria looked between the two of them, aggrieved, until Dorian finally dropped her hand. “Nobody could say for certain. There has never been anything like you in existence. Nothing like  _ this _ has ever happened. Who knows how long the ripples will last?”

Maria tore her eyes from Dorian to pierce Hawke with them instead, like Varric’s very favorite witch could provide an educated second opinion. That… was a miscalculation. Hawke rolled her shoulders and forced the most non-reassuring smile Varric had ever seen. “You know, after a while, you kind of pick a favorite demon.” 

Ah. There it was. The look where Hawke said something  _ so _ ridiculous, that a person’s brain had to completely reboot to process it. Maria stared blankly at Hawke for a moment. Another one. 

Then she fell back on the backseat of the jeep with a muttered curse. “Balls. Fucking  _ balls _ .” 

Varric jammed his elbow solidly into Hawke’s ribs the  _ second _ Maria looked away. The witch grunted, but didn’t protest. 

“Hey! Inquisitor!” Harding’s voice called out from the far corner of the lot. She had her camera pointed in the direction of the deserted road into Crestwood, frowning. “We’ve got company incoming.” 

“Of course we do.” Maria muttered, propping herself back up. She still looked too pale, and Varric didn’t like those shadows under her eyes, but dammit she looked determined. “There’s my luck again, right Bull?” 

Varric tried to make out the car incoming as Harding retreated back to them, the gleam in the dim sunlight the only thing he could make out for a moment. It wasn’t until it got closer that he could see it, a nondescript, banged up pickup. Honestly, it looked like something Blackwall would drive. 

…or something Chantal Amell would. What  _ was _ it with Wardens and needing to have the worst car in ten square miles? 

At first, Varric thought it would pass them by. But the vehicle veered at the last moment, swerving into the parking lot and facing them. Bull lovingly trailed his too big hands over his assault rifle as they all watched, wary and silent. The engine rattled to a stop, one Varric feared it would never restart from, and a man threw open the cab door. He jumped to the pavement, straightening and eying Hawke with keen speculation. 

“Fucking told you it wasn’t her.” The woman with him unfolded herself with far more grace, glaring at their group. “Why would a  _ shifter _ wonder around with her own face out when she knows we’re looking for her?” 

“You’re not her, but you look familiar.” The man frowned intently at Hawke. “The witch from Kirkwall, right? The other one that’s on the run?”

“I’ve turned myself over to the very capable authorities.” Hawke beamed sweetly. “Can I help you, Serah?” 

“You look like her.” The woman claimed tersely. “The witch we’re looking for. Always thought you two were dead ringers for each other.” 

“I’ve been told I bear a  _ startling _ resemblance to the Hero of Ferelden  _ and _ the Queen of Antiva. Varric, what do you think?” Hawke asked, throwing a pout onto her lips. 

“I think I’ve got more than enough witches in my life. Let alone any wacky shenanigans with your unknown double.” Varric lied smoothly. “That’s why I always said you two shouldn’t meet.” 

“Doesn’t matter, Jana.” The man grunted, turning back to the cab. “You’re not who we’re here for, lady, and we’ve got orders.” 

“What kind of orders?” 

The question came from behind Varric and Hawke, from the small figure balanced on the edge of the backseat. Jana craned her head to see and Varric took a chance, helpfully moving to the left. 

“Andraste’s ass.” Jana blurted out. “Adrian, it’s  _ her _ . That dwarf that’s been all over the fuckin’ news.” 

Maria smiled wryly and repeated her question. “What orders? The Inquisition would want to help track down a dangerous witch.” 

“To recruit them, most likely.” Adrian snapped disapprovingly. “You’ve got a reputation for being soft on witches.” 

There were probably worse things to be known for, but you wouldn’t know it by the way tall, dark, and ugly growled out the words. “It’s none of her damn business, Jana.” 

Definitely Wardens. Varric could sniff out their damn shifty secrecy a mile away. Which brought up new and interesting questions. They’d assumed, with good cause, Chantal Amell vanished to keep her nose out of the witch and templar war. But these Wardens didn’t seem the friendliest sort, and they certainly didn’t look like they wanted Chantal’s autograph. Chantal was a Warden herself though, why in the Maker’s name…

“Are you going to Crestwood?” Jana’s dark eyes flashed. “The people there need a damn rescue party. Zombies wondering through the fucking streets and they’re afraid to run. Not that there’s many places to run to. People barricaded themselves in the school, but they won’t last long.” 

“So you left them there to fend for themselves?” Bull rumbled darkly.

“We’ve got our orders.” Adrian snarled, twisting back to the cab of the truck. “And you’ll need a damn army to take Crestwood back from the dead. Get in the truck, Jana, before I leave your Elven ass.” 

Jana looked like she wanted to say more, her shoulders hunching forward, eyes fixed on the dwarf in the backseat of the jeep. But the woman swallowed whatever she wanted to say and turned, stalking back to the vehicle. The man revved the engine and peeled out of the parking lot, kicking up a cloud of dust. 

“They didn’t recognize you.” Maria stated quietly, looking up at Blackwall. 

“They’re Orlesian. Can’t miss the accent.” Blackwall growled. “It’s not like a Warden to leave innocent people to suffer. Our order doesn’t stand for that.” 

“There were only two of them.” Harding frowned after them. “Two people does not an army make.” 

Neither did two dwarves, two witches, a Warden, a Seeker, a Qunari, and a reporter. If things in Crestwood were really that bad… Andraste, they had to try though. “Please tell me we’re not gonna leave those people hanging.” 

“Of course we’re not.” Maria answered immediately, rubbing her temple and slipping from the car. “I know we’re supposed to be looking for your Warden. But if she slips us we’ll pick up the trail later. I’m not abandoning a school full of people to a nightmare like that fucking gas station.” 

“We’re a hundred soldiers short of an army, Inquisitor.” Blackwall advised with a tight frown. “It could be difficult. It will certainly be dangerous.” 

“Good thing I’m dangerous too.” Maria pushed herself resolutely out of the car like she was indeed a one-person army. “I hope this was enough of a break to stretch your legs. Let’s move.” 

Her eyes flashed in steely determination while she made her way back to the jeep she arrived in. Bull peeled off to follow her, dropping one heavy palm onto her shoulder. 

“She’s going to get us all killed with her insufferable nobility.” Dorian sighed fondly as he followed. “Do try not to drive our bear of a Warden mad before we get to Crestwood.” 

Varric barely noted the words, too busy staring at the straight line of Maria’s spine, her head held high. A dizzying contrast from the way she’d stood just after he met her, shoulders hunched forward and hands deep in her pocket. 

“Varric, I’m going to tell you something a wise woman once told me.” Hawke declared smoothly from up above him.

Varric snorted, an action he hoped conveyed his skepticism. “You don’t seriously expect me to believe you know someone who can be described as wise, do you?”

“Shut up.” Hawke ordered. “Listen to me. If you don’t sleep with that fine broody piece of ass soon, I’m going to.”

“Rivaini is not a wise woman by any stretch of the imagination.” Varric glared up at the lanky human who, much to his distress, was also watching Maria walk away with keen interest. “Besides, what would your elf say about that?”

“She can shoot. She can talk guns. She’s got tits for days.” Hawke grinned brightly. “The only thing he’d have to say would be ‘can I watch?’, trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit shorter because I decided I didn't like the last third of it and it needed redone. Sorry! I hope you like it anyway! <3


	40. The Illusonist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is wrong in Crestwood, perhaps more wrong than Varric and Maria can even suspect.  
While on the trail of the Warden, the team begins investigating the rotten core of Crestwood.

_ The blood-stained mattress sagged under her weight while she perched on the edge of the rickety bed. The heft of the gun in her hand, one of her father’s antiques, felt right. Even though she’d sold this one, like she’d sold so many precious things. She stripped them away one by one to afford medicine, food, rent. She remembered, though, and the shiny mother of pearl grip shimmered iridescent as she turned it over. This was hers. Her curse. Her legacy. _

_ Something moved inside the closet across from the bed. She could hear skittering, spindly legs scratching at the door. She lifted her eyes from the gun, from the beautiful, deadly thing, to stare. The door shook as badly as her hands did, even when she tightened them on the pistol. She swore she could smell fire, smell smoke, and there was a shrieking, high pitched noise ringing between her ears. _

_ Soft, warm arms wrapped around her from behind. Slender, pale hands with immaculate nail polish and clinking, cheap bangles on her wrists. She smelled Bea’s favorite perfume, amber and vanilla, but all it did was layer over the stench of decay as her sister’s lips pressed to her ear. “Are you frightened yet, Ria?” _

_ “No.” She lied as the door trembled. From the corner of her eye, she saw Bea’s plump lips curl upwards in a sneer, those perfect nails growing as sharp as the teeth she revealed when they curled into the soft, unprotected flesh of Maria’s belly, claws rending flesh to pieces. _

_ “You should be.” The thing that wasn’t Bea whispered, the scent of iron piercing the air. The door fell open and one massive, spindly leg curled out of the darkness. She couldn’t scream, she couldn’t run, Bea’s arms were a prison even as she ripped her skin to pieces, even as the creature… _

* * *

She woke up still trying to scream, the sound caught in her throat, choking on her fear and raw panic even as she instinctively tried to push away from the warm, solid thing she’d woken up next to. 

“Inquisitor?” Cassandra’s concern bled through the residual terror. Maria whirled her eyes up to the woman’s darker ones. The sky shimmered brightly above her head, the cold wind whipped past, but Maria was cocooned in blankets she didn’t remember curling up under. Probably because Cassandra, Dorian, and the Iron Bull had none while she selfishly hogged all of them. 

“Sodding ancestors…” She cursed, trying to untangle her stiff limbs while Dorian turned to pierce her with his own darkly amused gaze. She didn’t have to look to know Bull was watching her in the rearview mirror as well. “What the bleeding hell did you three do to me? Where are we? How long have I been asleep?” 

“Ah. Yes.” Dorian’s sarcasm was unmistakable. “How _ dare _ we allow you to sleep? Truly. Clap us in irons and send us straight to the…” 

“Perhaps an hour.” Cassandra offered, seeming to take no offense to Maria’s blistering questions. “We thought it wise to allow you to rest before we reached Crestwood. We know how much sealing the cracks saps your strength.” 

If they started treating her like their little doll she was going to scream. She finally managed to rip her arms free of the blankets and glared spitefully into Cassandra’s face. “Did I drool on you?”

“Slightly.” She expected to see disgust on the Seeker’s face, but even though her lips didn’t move, a warm glimmer of amusement curled to life in Cassandra’s eyes. Did Maria even dare guess it was some sort of fondness? 

“Good.” She snapped, but the venom had leached out of her voice. Maria settled back in her destroyed mess of blankets instead and closed her eyes, leaning on the back seat. A part of her could still smell the rot of death lingering from the fade. She worried, a tad more than an insignificant amount, that if she relaxed her fists for a moment she’d find her hands were still shaking. 

“A nightmare?” Cassandra asked, her voice pitched low, trying to make certain neither man in the front seat could hear. 

“I forgot.” She nearly didn’t answer at all, but Maria reminded herself Cassandra was on her side, they all were. “It’s always bad after dealing with the cracks. I’ll live.” 

She slowly unfolded her right palm and looked down into the sun burned into her skin. A flicker of light shimmered underneath the welts that never seemed to heal, no matter how much soothing magic they poured into it or elfroot gel she slathered on top. 

Maria felt Cassandra’s heavy searching gaze sweeping her freckled face, concern evident. She ignored it while she craned around the front seat. “Excellent timing, boss.” Bull rumbled, astutely ignoring the drama of her awakening and the whispered conversation she knew he heard. “We’re comin’ up on Crestwood now. Haven’t seen anything to set my horns on edge. Yet.” 

“Were we able to figure out what school these people would be holed up in?”

“We apparently keep Varric around for more than his roguish good looks.” Dorian drawled, very pointedly not looking up from the bright cell phone screen in his hands. He appeared to be reading something on the tiny square of white light, endless lines of text wrapping around it. “Only two school buildings in Crestwood, but we can safely bet the townsfolk have taken refuge in the larger of the two. I’ve also done a bit of reading, what do you know of this charming backwater you’ve dragged me to?” 

“Well, I know for sure the term dragged is a bit misleading.” Maria huffed, poking her head between the seats and fixing him with an exasperated glare. “You wanted to see zombies.”

“Reanimated corpses possessed by displaced fade spirits.” He corrected without looking up, even as he inclined his head towards hers. “Do you know Crestwood was hit particularly hard by the blight?” 

“All of Ferelden was. Bleedin’ miracle it didn’t spread.” Maria shrugged her shoulders, uncertain. “I wasn’t much into the news then. I was busy.”

Busy being young, busy learning every inch of Fynn’s skin by memory, busy trying to keep food on the table for Bea, her own ass out of jail, and balancing the Carta at an arm’s length. The blight in Ferelden hadn’t seemed a pressing threat, no matter how dire the news coming out of the country. 

“I was busy too, quite honestly.” Dorian remarked. “I’d discovered intersecting quantum physics with arcane theories of transmutation. An exciting time in any young man’s life.” 

She didn’t even need to look at Bull to know he’d pulled his eyes from the road and was staring at Dorian like he had three heads. It was exactly the same look _ she _ was giving him. “Right.” Bull muttered, shaking his head to clear it. “If you say so.” 

Maria reached for the phone in her coat pocket, withdrawing it and looking at the screen. She nearly visibly winced. Maker’s hairy ass, how did she already have a hundred new emails? “How long till Crestwood?” She asked, resigned. 

“Ten minutes.” Bull grinned, looking mighty thrilled. “Sure to be trouble. You ready boss?” 

For trouble? Didn’t seem to matter if she was ready or not. It always found her. 

* * *

Crestwood had a grand total of three traffic lights, which was slightly more acceptable than one traffic light, but only _ barely _. Varric would bet his fine chest hair, his earring, and most of his fortune that their little convoy with two dwarves, one Tevinter national, and a Qunari brought the most diversity the sleepy town had seen in ten years. 

If one didn’t count the corpses, he guessed. 

The undead shambled through the pothole covered streets, past dangling street signs and abandoned looking homes with dilapidated porches sagging under the weight of poverty. They didn’t seem to be interested in the jeeps rumbling past and kept to themselves, dragging their dessicated forms down cracked sidewalks in front of empty storefronts, most with broken windows and an air of mournful neglect. 

Ferelden, particularly rural Ferelden, never did quite recover from the blight.To be fair, rural communities always seemed to be suffering from something. Not enough jobs, usually, and the jobs that existed were too dangerous, leaving cancer growing in their bones or resulting in mangled hands and fingers from hungry machinery. If it wasn’t that, it was the drugs flowing through the Carta in the big cities to innocent, naive hands. 

According to the news, anyway, which was usually full of shit. 

And if it wasn’t any of _ those _ problems to complain about, it was something ridiculous. Something like made up monsters stalking the woods to lure in tourists or young boys falling down wells and being rescued by loyal, plucky dogs.

Andraste, he needed to stop watching so much TV. It was rotting his brain. 

In Hawke’s biography, he’d painted Lothering as a rustic Ferelden idyll instead of this run down shit, he even included fluffy sheep in green pastures. It made a good narrative, after all, to see the hero’s world come collapsing down. Perfection ruined by the ugliness of civil war and the brutality of the blight. An origin story fit for the Champion, and Hawke encouraged him to spin it the way he liked with nothing but wicked amusement. 

Well. _ Encouraged _ was a strong word. She never did stop him though, and the more outrageous he got, the more she laughed. Once, he’d told the entire flight from Lothering with her carrying a takeout box of pizza. Hawke had laughed so hard she’d snorted. _ Actually _ snorted. 

That didn’t change the fact he could see the recognition in her eyes when she looked at the air of forlorn desperation hanging in windows of abandoned houses. This, he thought softly, was his Champion’s home. He prettied it up for the masses, but he could never do it for Hawke herself. And if he could… would she want him to slap fresh paint over the shambles of her childhood? 

Probably not. Varric wasn’t sure he’d let anyone pull the memories of echoing, too large rooms, vintage furniture draped in white sheets like bodies, and peeling gold gilt paint out of his cold, dead hands either. If only so he remembered what he _ never _ wanted to grow into. 

At least shitty childhoods made you interesting. Thank the Maker for small gifts. 

“Why aren’t they attacking us?” Blackwall snapped in Hawke’s general direction. He had one hand on his rifle, the other on the steering wheel, eyes roaming behind his sunglasses constantly. Between that, the leather jacket, and the bright red flannel he was the perfect picture of a father _ deep _ in a mid-life crisis. 

“Great question.” Hawke supplied, flicking the lid of her zippo. The click echoed inside the jeep like an exclamation mark. 

“Not a great answer.” Harding responded, but the reporter didn’t look away from her camera pressed up against the window. “Andraste, look at them all. It’s like they’re trying to go shopping. Like they don’t even _ know _ they’re dead.” 

“Well, Harding. If I’d been dead and woke up looking for that, I’d be trying to find a barber and a coffee too.” Varric grumbled, dropping his eyes quickly back to his own phone. “Hero, make a left here. School should be halfway up the block.” 

They drove in tense silence, all of them watching as the undead crowd thickened like groupies at a concert. They spotted the athletic field first, chipped painted goal posts still standing, a big finger pointing right to the concrete building beside it. Between them, a mass of writhing undead roamed the muddy grass, pacing back and forth like trapped animals in a zoo. Like they were waiting, Varric thought with an icy shiver, for the doors to open up and kids to spill out for recess. 

But the circle in front of the school, with dying, wilted shrubbery, was completely clear of corpses undead or otherwise. The creatures seemed stuck, pressed back from it. As the jeep circled where dinged, dirty, barely-yellow buses once dropped off teens, Hawke sniffed the air like her own damn dog, then grinned. 

“Oh Blackwall.” She purred, opening the door before the man had even stopped the vehicle, ignoring his sputtering curses. “At least one of your wardens isn’t a _ complete _ asshole.” 

Blackwall slammed the car into park so suddenly that the gears whined in protest, but Hawke was already skipping out of the front seat, slinking up the crumbled sidewalk to the edge of the school building, examining it pointedly. 

“She’s a madwoman.” Blackwall murmured, and really, Varric couldn’t argue. He undid his own seatbelt and followed, looping around the back of the jeep with a wary eye on the corpses prowling the perimeter. 

The jeep following theirs came to a much less clunky stop, all four doors opening at the same time like a choreographed dance, but his eyes were drawn to one of the occupants more than any of the others, taking her in with keen interest. She looked a bit less drawn and pale than when they’d resumed their trip to Crestwood. He had hoped, when Bianca said her phone had been inactive for most of the drive, she’d been sleeping. He’d been too proud to actually _ ask _ Dorian for confirmation. 

The witch in question flew past Varric, hot on Hawke’s heels, with Cassandra booking after him. Bull paused beside the jeep to glare at the corpses that almost seemed to press forward eagerly, although they still stopped at the end of the drive like they were being held by an invisible wall. Maria stopped beside him, asking him a question too quiet for Varric to hear. Bull answered with a shake of his head and a heavy pat on Maria’s shoulder, leaning against the vehicle while the smaller figure shook off her own unease and ran a hand through her hair, turning to meet Varric’s gaze. She froze for a moment, fingers still twisted in the crimson framing her face before half her smile tipped up cautiously and she inclined her head. “You want a picture, Varric?” 

He was staring, she wasn’t wrong and he wouldn’t even deny it. Instead he chuckled weakly and cast a pointed look at the mess behind her. “Even with a background like this, Princess, you’re gorgeous.” 

She snorted in disbelief, but slowed her pace when she got to his side so that they approached the witches and Seeker together. All three humans had their backs to them, but it was the witches who were moving their slender fingers over the shoddy bricks making up the dilapidated old building.

“Found it.” Hawke grinned, tapping her knuckles against grimy brick. “_ Damn _ she’s good.” 

“You can tell she’s been properly trained, yes.” The unsaid ‘unlike some people’ reverberated in the air. Dorian withdrew his pen from his pocket and tapped it three times on the brick closest to him. 

On the third tap, a dark spot blossomed, color drawn to the pale surface. It shifted, elegantly, into an intricate design of swoops and swirls interspersed with odd geometric patterns. Hawke whistled under her breath and Cassandra broke her stoic exterior to raise one eyebrow. 

“This is _ impressive. _” Hawke traced her fingers over the rune. “Maker’s balls, I always forget how damn powerful she is.” 

“She _ can’t _ keep this up for much longer.” Dorian snapped, but even he looked impressed. “A protection sigil drawing this kind of power down? She’s lucky she’s not dead already. If this _ is _ your Warden…” 

“It is.” Hawke stated, brooking no argument. “And she’s close, there’s no way she’s doing this from any distance. She’s in town, _ somewhere _. She could be in the damn school for all we know.” 

“Which brings up a really important question.” Maria cut in, casual stance not quite translating to ease the tension in her shoulders. ‘Why the fuck are all the zombies chilling _ outside _ the school? And not attacking us?” 

“Hungry?” Varric suggested with a shrug of his own. “Lots of tempting, defenseless morsels in there. Like an all you can eat buffet.” 

“You suggesting we’re _ not _ appetizing?” Maria asked, turning her bright gaze to his, amused. He had to swallow his response that, yes, of course _ she _ was quite appetizing, and he’d gladly devour her whole given half a chance. Much better than anyone else would, he thought snidely. 

“Varric and Blackwall would give them hairballs and everyone knows Vints are empty calories. Then I’d probably give them heartburn and your Qunari is all gristle.” Hawke said smoothly, winking lavisciously over her shoulder. “You and the Seeker are the only delicious ones here, but alas, you’re just bite-sized and _ she’d _ probably eat _ them _. Or kidnap them. Who knows?” 

Maria laughed, shaking her head in exasperation as Cassandra scoffed and colored nice and pink. Varric fought the urge to cover his whole face with a palm to hide his own cringe while Hawke plowed on. “Now, of course, some people like their snacks bite-sized. In fact…” 

He was saved by the industrial double doors opening and a thin, stooped man standing within them with nothing but a rifle gripped in shaking hands pointed at the three humans. “Who are you?” The man demanded, voice shaking in fear, eyes flicking over their heads to the mass of undead that seemed to surge forward at his appearance, reaching grasping hands out, an eerie cry piercing as they began to shout, scream, moan in their torn, wretched vocal chords. 

Varric never heard something that raised the hair on the back of his neck more. All the humans took their eyes off the man with the rifle to stare at the zombies that pushed against the Warden’s invisible protection barrier, the ones Harding was recording with pale horror. It was Maria who didn’t drop her eyes from the rifle, didn’t look towards the terrible howl. She stepped forward quickly, slipping between that rifle and the humans, hands out as she sauntered forward with a kind smile. 

“I’m Inquisitor Cadash.” She announced smoothly, the title tripping off her tongue with no effort. “I’m here to help. This is the Inquisition.” 

The man swung his rifle right towards Maria’s chest and for a second, when she said her title, Varric thought the man jumped enough to nearly pull it. So, he lurched forward, grabbing at her coat with the intent of pulling her back to safety. And in the half second he did so, the man dropped the rifle, defeated. “Inquisition?” He repeated. “This all of you?” 

“For the moment.” Maria tugged her arm free of his grip without even looking back, but he could feel her irritation coming off her in waves regardless. “You what’s left of Crestwood?” 

“Just about.” The man was barely audible over the unholy, desperate sound. He looked back at the undead in fear before retreating one step backwards. “Mayor Dedrick. You lot better get inside.” 

Varric had never heard a better plan. Maria whipped her head to Bull, Harding, and Blackwall. “You heard the man!” She called with feigned cheerfulness. “Let’s go.” 

And in the same breath, she dropped her eyes to his, her expression stony. “You can’t just _ grab _ me.” She hissed. 

He didn’t know whether to shake her or kiss her. “Sorry Princess, we’re _ supposed _to let you walk towards armed, possibly hostile people pointing guns at you?” 

“Yes.” She snapped, turning on her heel. 

Shaking her, Varric decided, was looking more likely every second. 

* * *

Fear had a distinct, sharp scent. The mayor reeked of it when he ushered them in and down dated linoleum-tiled hallways. A dull, quiet rumble of many voices in a small space came from farther into the cramped building. The mayor drove them onwards without even stopping at the wide open doors to an echoing multipurpose room, one more accustomed to teens running laps than housing what looked to be the entire population of this tiny town. 

“That your people?” Maria slowed, craning her head to peer into the space. 

“They’re terrified.” The Mayor snapped, going pale. “They don’t need prodding.” 

She hadn’t meant to prod, but it being the first thing he said… didn’t sit right with her. She looked over her shoulder, met Harding’s eyes, and jerked her chin at the room in a clear signal. The reporter didn’t even blink, vanishing into the room like a shadow behind the Mayor’s back, slinking beneath his notice. Maria kept her voice even, distracting the man with another question as she made eye contact with Blackwall and flicked her fingers in Harding’s direction, a clear signal to make sure she was safe. “They need anything? We can get supplies diverted.” 

Blackwall nodded and slipped after Harding into the gymnasium, hopefully to keep her out of trouble. The Mayor scoffed. “We need to evacuate. Andraste herself is the only thing keepin’ us safe and Maker knows how long that’ll last.” 

“Everyone’s always so quick to give Andraste the credit.” Hawke sighed, which earned her a rather steely glare from the mayor that she paid no mind to. Maria barely hid her grin under feigned annoyance, the sentiment hitting rather too close to home otherwise. 

“They seemed docile enough when we drove through. Probably could try for an escape.” Bull commented, ambling beside her. 

“Docile!” The mayor nearly screeched, the sound piercing Maria’s eardrums. “You saw them, didn’t you? They’re bloodthirsty monsters! Killed a dozen people before we found safety here, and there’s more of them every damn day! Gotta be near a hundred now.” 

But they _ had _ been docile when they drove in. She’d asked Bull if he’d ever seen anything like it, and even _ he’d _ been bewildered. Dorian, of course, had a million theories. Cassandra, really, only had one and _ that _ was blood magic. The creatures hadn’t gone into a frenzy until the mayor himself stepped outside, which brought up a chilling possibility.

Were the zombies on a strict diet of Crestwood locals only? Did someone curse this town in the middle of fucking nowhere with an undead plague? Who? Why? _ How? _

All excellent questions. Somehow, she doubted the sad beanpole next to her was gonna give her a single answer. The room he led her into didn’t offer much hope either. Just shy of a dozen people sat at too small desks in various poses of frustration, filling a classroom with a big green chalkboard at the head. One huge man rose slowly from a desk that threatened to give out under his weight and strolled to greet them without even looking at the mayor. “I know you…” He flicked his dark eyes over Maria’s face thoughtfully. “That dwarf, from the news. The one that died three times.” 

Maria summoned a beaming grin. “Hasn’t stuck yet.” 

“Well, you lookin’ to finally meet the Maker, you’ve come to the right place.” A woman stood as well, face grim and tired. “You bring help, _ Inquisitor _? Or are you just content to take our Lady’s name in vain?” 

Maria beat back the urge to turn and glare at Cassandra as she stepped forward, cajoling and sweet. “Tell me what happened. I want to help.” 

* * *

Turns out she was looking at what remained of Crestwood’s city council, a group she suspected never had been particularly robust, plus various assorted others with either position (the sheriff and volunteer fire chief) or the right credentials for a zombie apocalypse. Those last three were, by far, the most interesting. A woman named Judith who was a known survivalist, a man who was once the local crackpot doomsday prepper and refused to give his name cause she represented the ‘guvment’, and the outrageously large man, dwarfed only by Bull, who didn’t even live in Crestwood. He introduced himself as Jerry, who’d been in the right place at the wrong time, a veteran of the Ferelden civil war turned trucker who’d just happened to stop in town when things went to shit.

It started the same minute the Conclave blew up, apparently. Crestwood’s own meager electric system had been knocked offline by the explosion occurring hours away and when they finally got it back they discovered they’d obtained an even _ larger _ problem. 

It started as a trickle, according to the locals. One shambling corpse. Then another. Then three. Eventually, the undead began to pour into the streets like a Summerday parade. The town lost a dozen residents before they retreated into the school and barred the doors. That final, desperate move had been made more than a week ago. They’d hoped when the vortex snapped shut, their problem would vanish.

Unfortunately, it didn’t.

Maria listened, attentively, to the explanation and the accompanying sniping. The Mayor hadn’t acted fast enough. The sheriff didn’t call for help. Nobody responded to said pleas for help. Nobody _ knew _ where all the undead were coming from. It was enough to make her head throb. 

Finally, she interrupted. “The Inquisition is going to help, but we need to get in contact with our people back at Skyhold, see what aid they can send. You got a place we can set up?” 

Everyone stared at her, with differing degrees of resignation, despair, and hostility. It was unlucky Jerry that unfolded himself from the desk again and gestured to follow him. “Yeah. Computer lab, if you can consider it that, down the hall. That’ll do?” 

“I already don’t want to see where this is going.” Varric half groaned. Maria inclined her head in gracious thanks and turned her back on the people in the room. 

“For a bunch of helpless sheep with their back against the wall, they’re not begging for help, are they?” Dorian asked as Cassandra slammed the door shut behind them. 

“They’re Ferelden.” Hawke shrugged, as if it explained it all. “They don’t like to ask for help.”

“Probably doesn’t help you’re a dwarf parading around with a religious title. You know how these country god-fearin’ folk are.” Bull rumbled. 

“Well, you’re a smart group.” Jerry frowned, Maria saw it out of the corner of his eye as he reached for one of the creaking doors and swung it open, flicking on the fluorescent lights. “I suspect those would be the two _ main _ reasons for the dislike.” 

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Varric took one look at the outdated equipment in the lab and then turned his pained expression to Maria. “This shit was outdated ten years ago.” 

“Which means it’s vintage now, right?” Hawke asked, sauntering past and trailing one long finger through the dust. “C’mon Varric, boot one up. I can’t wait to hear that sound again. You know the one. The screeching…” 

“Princess…” Varric was very nearly pouting, and Maria didn’t want to enjoy it half as much as she was. “Please don’t tell me you expect me to do _ something _ with any of this?” 

“Tell Bianca this is payback for that time she locked me in the SUV.” Maria directed. Before he could open his mouth to continue complaining, Jerry cleared his throat. 

“A word, Inquisitor? In private?” 

Alarm bells rang, but she nodded slowly and allowed Jerry to lead her down the hall from the computer lab. Varric, Hawke, Cassandra, and Dorian slipped in the damp, dark room. Bull leaned against the door frame, for all intents and purposes appearing very interested in his own phone. 

Maria knew better, and knowing that made her feel slightly less wary, but she wouldn’t admit _ that _ either. 

“There’s something wrong in this town.” Jerry whispered, crouching down low to stare into her eyes. “These people know more than what they’re saying.” 

The rest of the council smelled of fear, but Jerry didn’t, and he met her eyes with level calmness. “What do you think they’re hiding?” She asked quietly. 

“Fuck if I know. Been here since the beginning and ain’t nobody tried to figure out where these corpses are coming from. Weird, isn’t it? Maker-fearing Andraste worshippers like these folk, burning their dead at the chantry? The corpses are too tall to be dwarves, so the townsfolk think it’s an ancient elven burial ground.” 

Maria was suddenly very, _ very _ glad she hadn’t brought Solas or Sera. “Gotta love some old fashioned racism.” 

“I tried to follow the trail, before we started losing people. There’s a hospital about a mile away, it’s been abandoned since the war. The townsfolk said they treated blight patients there, and that afterwards they just shut it down. Nobody’s been in since.” 

Maria held Jerry’s gaze steadily. “You think they’re coming from the abandoned hospital?” 

“I asked about it and the Mayor threatened to kick my ass to the curb for wasting resources. He doesn’t want anyone poking it.” Jerry straightened, meaningfully staring down at her. “Maybe somebody _ should _ poke it.” 

And maybe that somebody should be her. “Thanks for the info.” 

“Hey, you get these people and me out alive, I’ll owe you one.” Jerry grinned, nodding. “Good luck, Inquisitor.” 

And with that, the tall man ambled away as leisurely as he could. Maria swore he was whistling. She followed him back to the door and watched him round the hallway corner before looking up at Bull. “You hear that?”

“Humans.” Bull sighed, almost fondly. “They never anticipate Qunari to hear as well as we do. What do you think, boss?” 

“I can think of several places I’d rather go exploring than an abandoned hospital.” Maria bit her lip, leaning on the door frame and watched Varric curse as he attempted to boot up one of the dinosaurs in the room. “But I don’t see a way around it.” 

“This stinks, boss. The whole thing.” 

She couldn’t agree more. Maria bit her lip harder, feeling it swell beneath her teeth, and sent a weak prayer to the Maker she didn’t believe in. _ Please don’t let me fuck this whole thing up right off the bat. Please. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I warn y'all how dark the next chapter is about to get, or can you guess?


	41. The Abandoned Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crestwood won the battle against the blight, but at terrible cost. Maria could bring justice to those denied it too long. If Varric, Dorian, and Bull can keep her alive long enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this needs a trigger warning, clearly, but I'm not entirely sure how exactly to tag it. In the game, the Mayor of Crestwood drowns the people suffering from the blight, which is _probably_ triggering enough in this climate.
> 
> I moved this to a modern setting - which makes it worse for me. And probably for all of you. So, if you're experiencing COVID-19 related anxiety about plagues and what people in power will do to "solve" them at little to no consideration of people's lives, the end of this chapter (starting with the POV switch to Varric) may be the part to skip.

Maria Cadash hadn’t really expected anyone to like her plan, but she didn’t quite anticipate everybody looking at her like she’d lost her damn mind. The only one who nodded in terse agreement was Bull, as she knew he would. 

And the first person to start bitching was Varric, which also wasn’t a surprise. “So, let me get this straight. The trucker is telling us to go check out the creepy abandoned hospital, which is clearly a terrible idea. And you’re gonna go do it anyway, because _ of course you are, _ but you’re leaving half of us here?” 

“Thank you for the concise summary.” Maria made her best attempt at glossing over his clear objection, but she noted the tension in Varric’s jaw while he stared at her in disbelief. “Anyone else have feedback?” 

“I would prefer to accompany you.” Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the desk where a teacher would sit to supervise the rowdy teens. Maria almost felt like she was staring down detention. Again.

Honestly, she would _ prefer _ to take Cassandra. It felt like the Seeker had been by her side since the beginning, solid and immovable. She’d become a sort of lucky charm, or a wall to shelter behind. And, honestly, this was Maria _ still _ using Cassandra as a shield. Instead of physically hiding behind her muscled form, she was hoping Cass could bear the brunt of Maria’s shit reputation and disrepute. 

“These are crazy Andraste people.” Maria shrugged. “You’re a Seeker. They may listen to you if we need them to.” 

“You’re the Inquisitor. The Herald of…” 

“Cassandra.” Maria snapped impatiently. “They’re about as convinced of that as _ I _ am.” 

Cassandra threw her hands up in surrender and exasperation. “As you wish, then.”

Hawke clearly had objections too. The Champion of Kirkwall looked utterly relaxed, but she kept kicking her heel against the desk she propped her long, gangly legs up on. “Well you should take the witch who _ isn’t _ thrilled by all the shambling corpses. The Magister may decide to jump ship and -” 

“Not a Magister.” Dorian reminded her, exasperated. 

“Also not relevant.” Maria shot Hawke a warning glance. “We’re looking for _ your _ contact. Who happens to be your cousin. If she’s here, you’ve got the best chance to find her. Same reason I’m leaving the other Warden here.” 

Bull and Dorian could back her up easily and she trusted them wholeheartedly. She trusted the others, with Harding’s gentle interviewing of the survivors and Cassandra’s bullheaded determination, to get to the bottom of whatever was happening. If the hospital was a bust, she’d have another lead when she got back. 

Hawke didn’t shut up. She met Maria's eyes and shook her head. “Fine. I’ll stay here and look for Chantal, but you _ need _ to take Varric. Honestly, what you really need is Bianca, but we’ve never been able to separate his baby from his ear.” 

“I doubt any of the technology is actually working in this hospital. Fuck, I doubt there’s _ anything _ still there at all.” If a city hospital lay abandoned for so long, surely _ someone _ would pick it over. But hell if she knew how the people out here lived, they were as foreign to Maria as Tevinter itself would be. 

“Maybe.” Hawke shrugged and smirked at Varric. “But Bianca and her hairy dwarven keeper can get you maps. Energy signals. Fuck, if there’s a decent coffee shop somewhere close she can ever get something delivered.” 

“She’s not wrong.” Varric insisted smoothly. “And you know it. Besides, four is marginally better than three.” 

“And, if the undead do attempt to eat us, he’d be the easiest to outrun.” Dorian beamed joyously. And, Maria thought, rather suspiciously. “This plan seems sound to me.” 

“Cute.” Maria snapped, shoving her hands in her pockets and balling them into fists. “Except I’m still an inch shorter than him if you’re thinking short legs mean dead dwarves.” 

Dorian looked playfully wounded. “Clearly we’d carry you out and leave him to the corpses.” 

“Also.” Varric pointed out smugly. “You’re two inches shorter than me. At least.” 

None of which changed the fact that she didn’t want to take Varric, even though she had no good reason for it. In truth, he made perfect sense to accompany them. He was invaluable as an asset, but she didn’t want to see him hurt, particularly on her orders. That didn’t seem like something _ anyone _ would appreciate her saying. 

And how could she explain it to anyone _ except _ Dorian? 

“Fine.” She sighed, ducking her head to stare at her sneakers. “Varric, Dorian, Bull and me. Unless anyone has any further objections?” 

“Maybe.” Hawke chirped, digging in her coat pocket. “One second, let me check.” 

“You already registered your objections.” Maria looked up and crossed her arms over her chest in a mirror of Cassandra’s posture, tightening her fingertips into her arms when she saw the pack of cards Hawke withdrew, the intricate designs on the back too familiar. 

Too close to a burning hotel and a world on fire. Too close to reminding her why she needed to leave Varric here. 

“Well, if I’d have known I only got one, I wouldn’t have wasted it on Varric.”

“Thanks, Waffles. You’re a real friend.” Varric grumbled, but made no move to stop her as she shuffled the cards, quick and clever fingers blurring as they moved. Hawke laughed softly before she turned to the desk, kicking her feet off and leaning forwards, quickly flipping three cards face down onto an ancient keyboard. Then, with a degree of showmanship reserved for buskers chasing down their next dollars, she flipped the first over. She revealed a man, Maria thought, looking over his shoulder at a battlefield strewn with swords. Hawke pursed her lips thoughtfully.

“A battle was won here. But they paid the cost in blood and little pieces of their souls.” 

“Shame that.” Dorian remarked. “Money is so much cleaner.” 

“Dorian.” Nearly everyone said the name at the same time, with the same general weariness, and the man threw up his hands in surrender. Hawke beamed triumphantly, her grin pointed directly at Dorian as she flipped the next card. 

Maria’s heart caught in her throat and she stepped forward, drawn to the card, eyes on the figure emblazoned on its face. It was a woman, hair red at her crown but falling in long, stylized waves over her shoulder and back in hues of orange and gold. Her eyes were closed, but she had her hand stretched towards the sky over her head, and in her palm…

Maria tightened her own fist in her coat pocket, the ridges and swirls of the sun embedded in her flesh still too new to feel comfortable. She tore her gaze from the card and to Hawke’s smug face, speechless.

Hawke wasn’t. She purred the question even as she flipped the next card, holding Maria’s gaze. “Where have you been all my life? We’ve been waiting for you, y’know.” 

“Bullshit.” Maria dropped her eyes back to the card, tracing it hungrily in spite of herself. A part of her wanted to laugh, but another part of her… well. It was ridiculous. She wasn’t the shining figure on the card illuminating the darkness she emerged from. That was the shit too fantastical for even Varric’s stories. 

She didn’t even look at the remaining card until she heard Varric swear softly. “Shit.” 

Hawke’s slender fingers traced the figure on the last card almost lovingly. A blonde with a sword in one hand, scales in the other, perfectly balanced. “Hello old friend.” Hawke whispered softly, shaking her head. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you like this.” 

“What is it?” Maria asked, swinging her eyes between Varric’s suddenly heavy features and the raw devastation in Hawke’s eyes. 

“Just a mistake I made.” Hawke suddenly looked much younger as she folded the cards back together into a neat little pile. Her voice pitched a bit too high, hiding something underneath. “You’ll right whatever went wrong here, I think. Somebody has evaded justice far too long.” 

“Who?” Maria demanded impatiently.

Hawke simply shrugged, cards vanishing into her coat pocket while she slumped into her chair. 

“Maker forbid she gives us anything helpful.” Dorian grumbled. 

“Sorry.” Hawke’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, but she forced it onto her face. “Is being useless and pretty reserved only for you?” 

“Why would we let anyone else try when I do it so very well?” Dorian snapped back. 

Varric laughed and Maria bit the inside of her mouth, hard, to prevent herself from doing the same damn thing. “If we’re done here…” She began instead, jerking her chin over her shoulder.

“Let’s go fight some zombies.” Bull rumbled, turning to lead them from the room with a suspiciously buoyant spring in his step. 

* * *

It was about five minutes into their drive to find the abandoned hospital that Maria noticed something concerning. She hadn’t heard the sound of Varric’s voice since he sat down and gave terse directions to Bull. The man hadn’t even complained about the top rolled down on the jeep and the cold wind cutting through them.

Not much could make her tear her eyes from the horde of zombies milling in empty streets and congregating in abandoned parks, but his silence could. She couldn’t quite stop monitoring the shambling figures from the corner of her eye, but she couldn’t bear his quietness either. 

“That card shook you up.” 

He didn’t look away from the diagrams displayed on his tablet, but he did scratch at the stubble on his jaw. “Yeah. Been awhile since I’ve seen it, Princess. Sometimes, Hawke’s cards represent people. That one… used to belong to a friend.” 

“_ The _ friend?” She asked softly. 

“Anders.” Varric sighed the name. “The man we helped burn down the world.” 

“You didn’t…” 

“Know?” Varric lifted his dark eyes from the screen, and they burned with guilt, grief, and dark fury. “We knew. We knew _ something _ was wrong, anyway. Just like we knew the red lyrium was bad news and that Meredith was a nutcase. We knew, we just thought we couldn’t do anything about it. So we buried our damn heads in the sand until we couldn’t anymore.” 

“If you knew what he planned on doing, you’d have stopped him.” The confidence in her voice made his anger soften, his lips curling up into a small, uncertain smile. 

“Princess, you can’t be sure of that.” He said softly. “I’m not. The templars. The witches. Fuck. It kept getting worse and worse every damn day in Kirkwall. Spent half my time waiting for the word they’d dragged Hawke and Sunshine off to the Gallows, or killed Daisy and Blondie. If they had? Maker knows what I’d have done.” 

“You wouldn’t have blown up a church full of grandmas and children.” Maria didn’t know much with any degree of certainty, but she thought she knew that, at least. Varric Tethras wasn’t a safe man, she remembered too clearly his clenched fist and tense jaw when he argued with Cassandra. She’d seen him pull the trigger on that shotgun to take out rogue templars and witches along with demons and the things of nightmares. But for all that, he wasn’t a monster. 

Maria believed that. She really did. 

“I would have said the same about Anders.” Varric’s quiet, haunted admission was almost lost in the wind slicing through them. “I was there, when Hawke killed him. I was looking into his eyes. There wasn’t… there wasn’t much left of him. He was sick, broken. Maybe even before the demon got its claws into him. I should have done better for him.” 

She knew that sentiment all too well, she’d disappointed enough people in her own life. Caused enough suffering. She’d never convince him _ or _ herself they weren’t responsible for the blood staining their hands. 

A part of her wanted to try anyway. 

“I do hate to interrupt this charmingly depressing backseat bonding session.” Dorian chirped in a voice that didn’t sound apologetic in the least. “But is this the decrepit hospital we’re looking for?” 

“Something tells me this town isn’t big enough for more than one hospital, decrepit or no.” Maria grumbled, letting her eyes slide forward to the squat concrete building with too many dark, cracked windows lining it’s facade. It looked like it was watching them with some sort of lingering, malevolent intent. The thought made her hair stand on end.

The only thing that could lighten the mood was Bull chuckling, completely unaffected by both mood and shambling zombies. “How many dwarves does it take to get out of the big city?” 

“One.” Maria quipped, nerves settling as she fell into the easy banter. “She’s at crotch level and she has a gun, so continue the joke at your own risk.” 

The mist clung to the hospital facade like spiderwebs and the dim headlights of the jeep in the twilight barely sliced through it. Bull cut the engine at the end of a drive that led into a vestibule, a faded sign reading ‘emergency room’ hanging crooked above the glass doors. The doors themselves were shattered, glittering shards of broken glass littered the entranceway. Red biohazard tape, still unnaturally bright, fluttered limply in the cutting wind. 

“Those doors were broken out from the inside.” Bull observed, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. 

“No zombies shambling around here though.” Varric added, gesturing grandly to the great open emptiness around them. 

“No.” Dorian disagreed quietly, dark eyes narrowed on the building. “That building isn’t empty, though. I can feel them.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but she asked anyway. “How many?” 

“At the very least a tidy flock. Maybe they’ll be as friendly as the rest.” 

“Sure. We’ll be lucky this time.” Varric muttered sarcastically, sliding his phone into his pocket. “At least Bianca’s excited.” 

Maria shoved her door open a bit harder than she particularly needed to. “Bianca would be.” She called back, swinging out of the seat. “She doesn’t have a damn body for them to eat.” 

The men followed her lead, footsteps muffled and eerie in the gloom. The space between her shoulder blades itched, waiting for the knife the solid forms behind her wouldn’t be able to stop even if they tried. Despite her crawling skin she kept her pace steady, not stopping until she slipped through the shattered doors, brushing the glass from her shoulder. Varric followed her, but Bull sighed and reached for the door handle, wrenching it open. 

“Was that locked?” Dorian asked, trying not to sound impressed and failing miserably.

Bull winked. “It’d take more than a flimsy lock to keep me out.” 

“Barbarian.” Dorian sniffed, sailing past. He nearly ran right into her back, because she’d stopped short, Varric beside her, both of them staring at the wall in front of them in silent horror. 

It had probably been where the ER receptionist sat, once upon a time, checking in kids with broken arms and old men clutching their chests with her cool, unflappable demeanor. There was still an old coffee mug full of mismatched pens on the counter for filling out forms. 

To match it, there should have been some boring, mass produced print of flowers on the wall behind the desk. Maybe at some point, there had been, but now there were only words sprayed in crimson, faded to the rust color of old blood. 

_ Let mine be the last sacrifice  
_ _Andraste 7:12_

“What in the fucking void…?” Maria asked into the heavy silence.

“That, my darling heretic, would be the Chant of Light.” Dorian advised. “Andraste’s last words.” 

“Cheerful sentiment to be spray painted on an ER wall.” She whispered back. 

Varric stepped forward towards the macabre words and Maria made a small noise of protest, lunging to grab his coat and holding him fast. “What are you doing?” She hissed. 

His eyes whipped to hers, one eyebrow raising as he dropped his gaze pointedly to her hand fisted in the leather with a wry smirk before he mockingly repeated her earlier admonishment. “You can’t just go grabbing me, Princess.”

She was going to slap that damn attractive expression right off his face. She dug her fingers in tighter, hoping he could read both the danger and impatience bubbling in her voice. She repeated her question through gritted teeth. “What. Are. You. Doing?” 

“Somebody left us a present.” He jerked his chin to the floor below the words. 

She followed the sharp tilt of his jaw to the grimy linoleum, relaxing her fingers as she took in the small black duffel bag with a garish red plastic ribbon tied around one dangling handle. Varric slipped from her grip and approached cautiously, toeing it with his shoe before he dropped beside it. 

“Twenty sovereigns says it’s a head.” Bull rumbled quietly. “I’ve watched this movie, boss.”

“If it’s a head or full of rats, I don’t even want to fuckin’ know about it Varric.” She hoped she sounded far more confident than she felt.

Theatrically, Varric grabbed the zipper and pulled it with a flourish, but he kept his body angled carefully away. Clearly, this wasn’t the first time he’d handled an object of unknown origin. Maria, of course, could only think that he would reveal a blinking timer and a mess of colorful wires. In which case, she supposed, she’d be the one that had to decide which wire they would cut. 

Maker, she hoped Bull remembered _ that _ movie too. 

Instead, Varric pulled a pale blue scrap of paper from the bag and held it up, confused. It took a second, but she finally recognized a hospital mask, one worn by nurses and doctors. 

“We are in a hospital, perhaps we _ should _ dress like it.” Dorian gestured grandly at their surroundings as Varric withdrew more items from the bag. Several solid, heavy flashlights. Several guns. And, finally, a yellow post-it note that made him raise his eyebrow before he held it out. 

“Think this is for you.” 

“For me?” She asked skeptically, stepping forward. 

“Well, it’s addressed to…” He skimmed the note, frowning in irritation. “The dazzling scarlet-haired siren who has enraptured Thedas with her charms.” 

She scoffed, but Varric thrust it out insistently. She didn’t believe him until her eyes dropped to the bold, slanted handwriting. It was indeed addressed to a scarlet haired siren. “What the fuck…” she repeated, dropping her eyes to the rest of the note. 

“Welcome to this less than comfortable town.” She recited aloud. “I fear there are more secrets than bodies buried here. Perhaps you should dig them up in the basement? Be sure to take excellent care to wear a mask. If you don’t have weapons, please take these. It would be a shame to lose someone so lovely.” 

She handed it up to Bull. “It’s not signed.”

“Are we certain Varric didn’t write it?” Dorian asked, examining the note over Bull’s arm. 

“My horns itch, boss.” Bull handed the note back, shaking his head. “Could be a trap.”

“Could be one of Chantal’s people trying to point us in the right direction. It certainly sounds like something her elf would have written.” Varric tossed one of the heavy flashlights up in the air and caught it securely. “Although I didn’t sign up to explore basements.” 

“Who did?” Maria asked, setting her shoulders and glaring around the abandoned waiting room. “Let’s find it and get the fuck out of here. This place makes my skin crawl.” 

With more feigned determination than she felt, she strode toward the double doors that seemed to lead deeper into the bowels of the hospital. She threw one of them open and froze, staring down the long hallway. A guide rail ran down the length of the hall, like the one her grandmother clung to as she stubbornly walked around the wards while the chemotherapy drugs dripped through her IV. As if that wasn’t a bitter enough reminder of Zarra Cadash’s fate, Maria was confronted with what she had always blamed her grandmother’s illness on. 

About halfway down the hall, a black, moldy substance covered the graying walls and peeling paint. It only looked to grow thicker the further into the gloom she peered into. Her stomach dropped somewhere to her knees in response. 

“Sweet mother of Andraste.” Dorian murmured, stepping around her. “This place should have been burned.”

“It’s the blight, but it’s old.” Maria looked up at Bull silently as he spoke, not for Maria’s benefit. She already knew what it was. “It’s dry. Flaking off.” 

“Which means it won’t kill us today, Tiny.” Varric snapped. “Not that it won’t kill us eventually.” 

The old dwarven tombs of her reverred ancestors were filled with this filth, which meant anyone that was smart stayed the fuck away. Maria hadn’t ever gone near those crumbling structures, but Zarra said somebody needed to care for their family’s meager, ramshackle tombs. It was their _ responsibility _ to those that had come before. 

Years breathing in the tainted dust and blighted bones with nothing but a scarf around her face, until eventually the tainted tombs began to tear Zarra’s lungs to shreds. Maria could still hear the wet sound of her bloody coughs, still see crimson stains on tissues. 

Maria shoved her horror down, locked it away where she wouldn’t have to confront it, and turned to Varric. “Better pass out those masks.” 

Well, Maria thought despondently, it wasn’t like she ever thought she’d reach old age to begin with. 

* * *

Varric wondered how many times, exactly, he needed to crawl through blight covered areas before he started to lose years off his life. This, at least, wasn’t the damn deep roads, but the deeper they dived into the hospital, the less that distinction seemed to matter. The crumbling traces of plague were everywhere, stirred up in tiny gray clouds beneath their feet. He struggled to not hold his breath beneath the flimsy paper mask, reminding himself to burn these clothes at the first opportunity. 

The hospital itself, built at least half an age before they were born, rambled nonsensically in narrow, cramped hallways. The light steadily vanishing from outside the tiny windows made them reach uneasily for the flashlights that consisted of the other part of their present. Bright beams danced nervously across the floor and walls. 

No corpses, though. Varric only wished he found the absence reassuring instead of menacing. 

As if she too felt the crackle of wrongness in the air, Maria crowded into his space. He didn’t know if she sought some sort of meager comfort from him, the same way his breath came easier with every brush of her arm against his, but he hoped she did. 

“Emergency staircase to lower level is twelve feet on the left after turning the next corner.” Bianca advised. Varric reached out to touch Maria’s arm gently with two fingers. 

“Stairs coming up, Princess.” 

“One moment.” Dorian snapped from behind them. Maria and Varric both whipped their head to stare back at him, nearly headbutting each other, but all they caught sight of was Dorian’s trench coat fluttering through an open doorway. 

“Dorian!” Maria hollered after him. The witch didn’t deign to answer so she began to mutter threateningly under her mask, diving into the room he vanished within. 

Bull shared a beleaguered look with Varric. “The pretty ones never do stick to the plan.” 

Didn’t he know it. With a weary sigh, he followed the other two into the dim room. Some sort of meeting area, he supposed, complete with an ancient conference phone like something his father used to bullshit on. But Dorian’s attention was on faded, moldy papers pinned to a corkboard. 

“Andraste’s blushing buttcheeks.” He muttered, finger hovering over the paper, but not daring to touch it. Either for fear of the creeping blackness dotting the papers or because they looked likely to crumble. “Do you see this?” 

“One annoying human being outrageously vague for dramatic effect?” Maria asked, far too sweetly. “Yeah, I see him.” 

Varric laughed out loud, a little chuckle that made Maria shoot him a sly, pleased grin. Dorian followed the jibe with a weary sigh. “Don’t play the dolt with me, I won’t stand for it. Come here, this is the hospital’s lackluster attempt to track and control blight infections.” 

“I can’t wait to hear why it was so lackluster.” Maria mumbled from behind her mask. Dorian pointed at one chart.

“The blight spreads like wildfire. Patient zero always seems to be asymptomatic because there’s never just one initial case to be found. There’s always ten. Then twenty. Forty. Standard medical care is useless, the people treating the infected inevitably fall ill themselves. The only ones who have any success are the Grey Wardens, they supposedly only recruit the immune.”

“The Qun think the Wardens have some way to make themselves immune.” Bull added grimly.

“A popular conspiracy theory. Made all the more likely by the fact nobody knows what the Wardens are up to.” Dorian sighed. 

Varric agreed. He didn’t know much about the Wardens, even Anders kept their secrets close to his chest, but he knew enough. Wardens definitely weren’t born immune to the taint of the blight, they were made. And he knew there was a pretty steep cost to it, although what that was remained unclear. Varric sincerely hoped they didn’t all eventually lose their marbles like Anders, but that was his best guess. 

“We could ask Blackwall.” Maria reasoned. 

“He won’t tell you.” Varric cut in. “Wardens like their secrets too damn much, Princess.” 

“So what happened here?” Maria asked as Dorian’s finger traced an alarmingly steep diagonal line on one of the charts. 

“They were dying in droves.” Dorian sounded almost sympathetic. “Nearly half this damn town must have had the blight. Looks to me like the original group of patients were refugees, but then… it spread. It always does, without proper precautions. This backwater couldn’t hope to take them.” 

Which brought up a very good question. One he saw reflected in the other three faces. 

Did they burn the bodies, or did they leave them in the morgue to rot? Was that the real reason for abandoning this hospital? 

“I don’t like where this is going.” Maria grumbled. 

He didn’t either, but it was Bull that said it out loud. “Morgue would be in the basement, boss. Better go see how many corpses are left in it.” 

* * *

The emergency staircase door was locked, but Varric made quick work of it while Maria held his flashlight. He followed her crimson hair, flickering like flames, down the concrete steps, their movement echoing too loudly in the tiny space. When Maria turned the last corner to take the final flight, she stopped with a sharp intake of breath. 

The door at the bottom of the steps had been ripped off its hinges then thrown across the narrow stairwell. Varric could still see a heavy chain and padlock on the handle. There was also a heavy metal desk toppled onto its side, the kind humans tried to shelter underneath during a bomb threat. 

It must have been shoved in front of the door, then the door itself had been bolted and locked shut. Varric’s mind immediately protested. “I thought the townsfolk said they didn’t know where the corpses were coming from.”

“Varric.” Maria said quietly, horrified, her flashlight beam on the floor. “Look at the dust.” 

He followed her instructions and had to swallow back rising bile. There was a clear path of shambling feet to the stairs they stood on, but there were also solid imprints in the dust from where the desk had stood, firm and immovable, for _ years _. Dust on the lock. The chains. The door.

It had been bolted shut years before the zombies forced their way out. 

“Sweet Maker…” It was the only thing he could say. Bull shoved past and Maria made to follow him with a noise of protest, but he made a small gesture with his finger that had her stop and simply crane forward to watch as he thrust his massive head through the door and looked around. 

The man’s shoulders dropped and Maria called his name into the silence. “Bull?” 

He didn’t answer right away, so Maria took the steps quickly, her words ringing too loud in the staircase. “Bull, tell me they didn’t do what I think they did. They couldn’t…” 

Varric was caught in her gravity, the same way Dorian was, and they both lurched after her as Bull stepped aside and allowed her to dart through the doorless entryway. She brought one hand up to her masked mouth and made a sound that was half retch, half hiccup of sorrow as she examined the walls around them.

Varric didn’t see what she was looking at until he was nearly back at her side. There were gouges in the plaster of the walls, dents in the frame around the door. Like people had been banging on it, scratching at the paint, wailing and desperate. The whole hallway stank of death and decay with a mixture of despair and mold. The walls were near covered in the inky blackness of the blight.

Those poor bastards. Those poor, helpless bastards. 

“They locked them down here?” Maria asked into the accusing silence. “Bull, they locked them down here to starve. They were sick and they…” 

Justice. Somebody has escaped justice too long, Hawke said. They were staring at one of the worst massacres he’d ever seen. “That’s why they didn’t want anyone poking around this hospital, Princess.” 

“And I thought war crimes were something you southerners didn’t commit.” Dorian shook his head in anger and disgust. “How many of those besieged townsfolk do you think knew what was down here?” 

At the very least the suspicious, sullen council members. But Varric wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t run deeper, corruption always did. “So with this new information, I’m feeling a bit more sympathy for the zombies. Maybe we should reconsider which side we’re on and let them have the school.” 

Maria shook her head and squeezed her eyes tight. “We can’t.” She swallowed hard. “Some of those people could be innocent, and there were children. I heard them.” 

She was right, but he didn’t have to like it. Dorian pointed his dark eyes down the hallway to the last set of double doors. “Do you feel it, Cadash?” 

“Yes.” She hissed, clenching her fist. “I do. Started feeling it halfway down the damn stairs.” 

“A crack?” Bull confirmed. 

Dorian nodded. “The veil was weak here, thanks to this atrocity. It’ll be a large one, my dear.” 

“I’m ready.” Maria snarled, suddenly looking feral in the weak beams of their flashlights. She uncurled her hand and turned on her heel, withdrawing her pistol from her waist as she walked. Varric pulled his shotgun free at the same time, joining the two men following her. He spared one look back at the scratches before he surged forward after his vengeful angel, unable to ignore the fury and danger rolling off her in waves. 

When they got out of this, he supposed they’d have to stop her from murdering the people responsible. If they could find the appropriate motivation to do so, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't promise anything, but if I stick to my own outline, the next chapter is going to end on a way better note for our heroes. I hope y'all enjoy and please feel free to comment and let me know if I need to tone this down at the beginning of the next chapter. I SWEAR I was always planning on doing Crestwood in a similar manner, the timing just sucks.


	42. The Tipping Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria Cadash's mark saves them all from a bloody end in Crestwood, but at a cost Varric worries about.   
Maria wakes up in the dark exhausted and alone, reeling from what she's been through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the halfway point of Crestwood! We still have to deal with the fallout - that'll be next chapter. I'm still tagging this with some general trigger warnings - if you're having a great deal of anxiety about global pandemics and irresponsibility of people in charge, parts of this chapter are not for you. I think when we get to the POV switch (directly above the italics/dream sequence) we're out of the visual descriptions and into talking about the raw emotional impact. 
> 
> Also some trigger warning here for some creepy religious imagery that I fucked myself up on while writing. Also before the POV switch from Varric into Maria (the last section of his POV)
> 
> If you make it to the end of this chapter there is fluff I SWEAR.

Varric knew it would be bad, but even he couldn’t fathom how the sight of the morgue would stir up instinctual dread in his bones. Nothing in his life, none of the horrors, none of the death, demons, and destruction, prepared him for what he saw when Maria threw the doors open. 

The population of Crestwood, according to Bianca, was a bit under a thousand people before the blight, cut almost exactly in half by both war and disease. It wasn’t like they could stop and count, but there had to be hundreds of corpses shambling around on the streets of the shitty town and lingering malevolently outside the school. 

Which meant, Varric thought with a chill, they were simply staring at what remained. These corpses who were too lazy to shamble on up or weren’t seen as good enough rides for the spirits. The windowless room they emerged in must have been as large as the entire hospital’s length and width. Bodies lay in twisted groups, withered and brown, the scent of fresh death long faded to the scent of mold and rot. All that was left of these poor people were bones and hair held together with skin long turned to leather. 

If the fifty or so corpses remaining had simply been laying side by side in neat little rows, neatly stacked like blocks, he may have been able to stomach it. Instead, they were grouped together in little clumps. A figure with long, stringy hair in the arms on another whose jaw was long gone. Two small forms under one blanket, one’s arm thrown over the other. Another skeleton with a bundle of blankets in their lap, a tiny skull peering up into an equally empty face. 

Their last moments of despair, misery, and comfort burned into the ether. He was looking into the abandoned echoes of the lost and forgotten. They shoved these poor sods in this basement so that the people above could live without danger. 

How, Varric thought in silent terror, could any of them go about their day knowing what they left down here? Were these their neighbors? Their families? Did anyone mourn them ever? Still? 

“So much for good Andrastrians.” Dorian muttered darkly. “Murdered these people and left them to rot without a proper burial.” 

“This is why you shouldn’t go wandering the countryside. It’s all boring vistas, bugs, potholes, and, finally, mass murder.” Varric mumbled in muted agreement. 

“Dwarves.” Bull huffed in amused, almost fond exasperation. 

Varric gestured at the carnage surrounding them, which certainly would never have happened in a big city with too many eyes on the problem. “Say what you will, but we were on the right track when we invented cities.” 

“I don’t believe that’s actually true-” Dorian began.

“Yes it is.” Varric insisted at the exact same moment Maria did. Varric basked in sending a triumphant look towards the witch, but before he could quite enjoy his victory, Maria broke forward, picking her way through the corpses. Swearing, Varric trudged after her. She seemed to have forgotten about the flashlight in her left hand, but the woman didn’t need it. Her right hand was flickering, pale light bouncing from her skin while she approached the farthest wall. 

Varric saw it at the same time Bull did, the Qunari’s groan echoing his own curse. In the beams of their flashlights, the crack climbed the concrete wall, up through the ceiling, down into the floor. It was easily as wide as Maria was, more a yawning abyss than any crack they’d faced so far. As she approached he had the nausea inducing vision that she could slip right through it, walk out of this world and into whatever void the demons came from. 

“Cadash, careful…” Dorian warned, eyes scanning the darkness. 

“We’re a bit past that.” Maria grumbled, stalking towards the crack. Varric heard something pop, then a high pitched ringing in his ears. His flashlight, capturing Maria’s back and the crack scaling the wall in front of her, flickered. Even in the unsteady light, he could see the void pulsing. 

“Maria!” Dorian shouted at the same time something seemed to explode from the crack, a shock of sound that rendered him temporarily deaf. Dorian reacted just in time, throwing up a delicate, but sturdy barrier of near opaque shadow that curved the force around their group. Morgue tables slammed against walls, corpses that had been sitting fell over like drunks. 

“Ah! Unstable rift in the veil. Let’s walk right towards it.” Dorian seethed over the ringing in Varric’s ears, glaring down at Maria. 

Her snide reply was far too loud in the silence. “That is kinda what I’ve been doing for nearly two months now.” 

Well, she wasn’t wrong. But, unfortunately, neither was Dorian. The eerie quiet following the shockwave was suddenly broken by a sound it took him a moment to place. It was the quiet noise a heavy sack made when it was dragged across the floor. He shifted the beam of his flashlight lower towards the noise. 

Right into the face of one of the corpses, it’s mouth permanently open into a gaping maw because the bottom half of it’s jaw was missing, along with the legs it abandoned fuck knew where. It made a sound that reminded him of nails on a chalkboard and lunged, but before it got within striking distance a single shot rang out and it fell, forehead smoking. 

“Varric!” Maria called. 

He was already shifting his shotgun into his hand as the other corpses began to rise in bits and pieces, a macabre welcome-to-hell party if he’d ever seen one. “You take me to the nicest places, Princess!” He shouted in return, sending a corpse flying backwards with a well-placed shot and falling back towards the group.

Bull let out a bellow that sounded nearly like a victory roar, his assault rifle popping off almost cheerfully while he picked off the undead beginning to crowd them from all sides. “Zombie apocalypse!” He exclaimed gleefully, teeth bared in a toothy grin. “It’s not even my birthday, boss.” 

“I didn’t think Qunari had birthdays.” Maria sounded annoyingly calm on his left. He couldn’t look away from the zombies to pierce her with a disgruntled glare, but he could complain, so he did. 

“Princess, can we focus on  _ not _ getting eaten?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” With his pen in hand, even in the darkness of the morgue, Dorian looked like he was about to give a lecture. “They won’t eat us. They’ll simply rip us limb from limb because  _ someone _ has to traipse into danger at the first opportunity without a thought to-”

“Dorian!” Maria snapped. “Can we do this  _ later _ ? I need to get to that wall.”

Dorian’s magic sent five undead back into the shadows, which gave Varric just enough time to drop another creeping up on their perimeter. He didn’t know how the fuck they were going to get Maria to that pulsing crack in the world, every corpse Bull dropped seemed to be replaced by two more. 

They were in trouble and he could tell Dorian and Bull knew it too. The witch cursed fluently in Tevene, but Varric only caught part of it. If he could trust Fenris’s translation, it was something along the line of ‘we’re up to our neck in shit.’ 

If the shit was up to Dorian’s neck, the dwarves were already buried. 

“We need to attempt to retreat.” Dorian advised, manipulating two separate shadows to smash another corpse against the tile. “We will be overwhelmed…” 

“We’re already overwhelmed.” Bull grunted. “Who thought I’d die fighting next to a Vint witch?” 

If he’d have known he was gonna meet his ancestors today, Varric would have done several things differently. He’d have indulged in Hawke’s junk food haul. Deleted that folder full of Rivaini’s porn from the server. 

He’d have insisted on riding in the same jeep as Maria so he could have wrapped his arm around her, would have worked up the nerve to stop acting like a kid who couldn’t grow a beard if he wanted to. He should have kissed her, should have told her…

“Fuck that.” Maria declared soundly. “I am  _ not _ soddin’ dying down here.” 

That was optimistic of her, and he was about to tell her so, but when he spared a look back at her Varric made two important observations.

The first, and perhaps the more important one, was that the beams of their flashlights were no longer the primary light source in the morgue. Maria’s hand threw off a bright halo of light like an old lantern, casting them in the glow of her right hand while she aimed and shot with her left.

The second thing he noticed was the way her eyes burned both furious and determined. A small voice whispered inside him, insistent, that he was no longer looking at a woman, but a goddess descending to demand tribute from the world. 

Her fingers curled into her palm, light spilling from between them. The only warning he had for what was about to happen was a prickling in his skin, the air on his neck, his arms, his fucking, chest, standing straight up. 

Then lightning struck. 

Energy exploded from Maria’s clenched fist, somehow moving over  _ them _ to target only the corpses crowding their group. The zombies were all pushed back, screaming and moaning in their terrible, hoarse, animalistic voices. Maria herself let out a sharp cry, a sound that was half fury, half pain, all gritty determination. Before the bodies even dropped, she was already moving, quicksilver and light, darting towards the wall. The smoke from the crack seemed to curl forward like it could grab her, drag her into the abyss. 

Maria stopped, holding her hand over the void, gold spilling from her fingers. It filled the crack in the universe with molten light, knitting it together like glue. The light beneath her skin seemed to travel, sparks flickering up her entire arm, he swore he could even see them pulsing in her neck. She illuminated the entire room, every dusty corner, the corpses struggling to resume their assault. 

Then, like a tremendous door slamming shut, the crack closed. The smaller shockwave it caused sent the corpses back down, crumbling as they fell into a mix of gold glitter and dust, piles of it littering the blight covered tile.

As quickly as it came, the light faded, collapsed back into Maria’s form when she pitched forward against the crumbling wall. She clutched at the edge of the crack in the plaster and concrete, but there was nothing to be seen in the void but exposed pipes and wires. The gun in her hand slipped to the ground with a terrifying clatter. Thank Andraste itself it didn’t go off. 

The only sound left in the room was Maria’s panting, labored breathing. Without a thought, unsure how it even happened, Varric was beside her, his arm around her waist, pulling her from the unstable wall. “Hey, hey. I got you.” 

“I’m fine.” She gasped, her muscles trembling under his fingers. “I’m fine, I’m…” 

She was  _ not _ . Her hair was sticking to her forehead, a sudden cold sweat making her skin clammy. “Shh…” He whispered as she sagged into his arms, nearly dead weight. “It’s alright.” 

He dropped his flashlight to the ground and carefully threw his shotgun back over his shoulder before he swept Maria off her feet. Her head lolled backward, boneless, and panic shot through him like electricity.

“Maria!” Dorian was the one who actually shouted her name, rushing to their side, but Varic’s matching shout was frozen in his throat. His gut reaction was to rip the mask off her face to check that she was breathing, but that would be a mistake here with the blight covering damn near everything. “C’mon baby.” He crooned instead, his voice too rough, hoisting her gently until her head rolled onto his shoulder. “Talk to me.” 

“No.” Maria’s mumbled response was barely audible beneath her mask, but it was an answer. Thank the damn Maker himself. 

“I’ll take it.” Relief broke out over him in a wave. He didn’t quite resist the urge to cradle her soft form closer, but he stopped himself from burying his face into the halo of red hair surrounding her face. Barely. Dorian’s fingers pressed against the pulse in her neck, his scowl darkening.

“Her heartbeat is irregular. I may need to shock it back into proper rhythm.” 

“Let’s get out of this shithole first. Varric, I can carry her.” Bull shouldered his rifle casually. 

“No.” He couldn’t let her go. He  _ couldn’t _ . He’d done it far too many times now. He’d nearly lost her at Redcliffe, abandoned her at Haven, let Maker-damned Blackwall carry her out of the mountains, watched her get into another car on the way to this damn town after he nearly watched a corpse break her neck. 

He  _ couldn’t _ do it anymore. His own heart wouldn’t stand for it one more  _ fucking _ time. 

“You keep watch for any zombies that haven’t quite dusted, I’ll carry her and use your ass as a shield.” He tried to make his voice casual, but he could tell neither man bought it for a second. Dorian folded his arms over his chest pointedly, mustache twitching, and Bull grinned. 

“Sure Varric.” The Qunari said. “Whatever you gotta tell yourself.” 

Maria made some noise of quiet protest, but whether it was objection to being carried in general or being carried by him, Varric couldn’t say. It didn’t matter one way or the other. 

There were only two options left, really. He hadn’t realized it until Maria collapsed, but he knew it now. Either he left the Inquisition, left  _ her _ , and never looked back, or… 

Or he took the jump and hoped there was  _ something _ in the abyss worth falling for. 

* * *

Varric let go of her exactly once, just long enough for Sparkler to pulse enough electricity through her veins to beat her heart back into proper order. She wasn’t quite unconscious, although that might have been easier. Instead, she simply seemed too exhausted to even hold a thought in her mind, but she answered Dorian’s questions with nothing but vague annoyance as he tested her faculties. 

“How many fingers?” He asked, holding them up in front of her eyes.

“Two.” She muttered. Varric curled his arm around her waist, lifting an eyebrow at Dorian to ask if this was really necessary. Dorian ignored him and continued. 

“The Prime Minister or Orlais is…” 

“Her last name is Valmont? That blonde bitch Leliana wants me to meet.” 

Dorian’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “And if two trains are traveling at speeds of…” 

“You can go fuck yourself.” She huffed, leaning back into Varric’s arm and looking around.

Dorian’s eyes melted into something far too concerned, amusement fleeing. “You must remember, my dear, you’re not a witch. Whatever magic you’ve got in your hand… your body was not built to carry it. You must be careful.” 

“Careful.” Maria repeated, scanning the darkness. “Right.” 

It was the exact same tone she used when she talked to Bea. Somehow, that wasn’t reassuring. Before Dorian could continue to lecture her on personal safety, a lecture Varric also felt she sorely needed, Bull melted out of the night. He shook his head when he met Maria’s weary gaze. 

“No sign of any corpses anywhere, boss.” Bull rumbled. “My thought? Head back to the school. See if you slamming that crack shut didn’t get rid of all of them.” 

“The council.” Maria muttered. “The Sheriff. The fire chief. The fuckin’ mayor. They had to know what happened here. They could have…”

They could have ordered it. Could have done it themselves. But… the whole fucking town could have known. Could have turned a blind eye. Varric saw his thoughts reflected in everyone’s face. 

“We’ll throw ‘em in a room and wait until they start talking.” Varric soothed, running his thumb up the line of her waist. “You can sleep while they sweat it out.” 

Typically, she’d have argued, but she was too exhausted this time, too hollowed out by horror and grief. She nodded, looking up at the hospital. “Alright.” 

Varric gently moved further into the backseat, giving Maria enough room to swing her legs into the vehicle. Dorian shut the door behind her, his low voice mixing with Bull’s before they too got into the car. Varric pulled the abandoned blankets from the floor and carefully wrapped one around her shoulders. 

“How could they?” Maria asked, eyes fixed on the building even as Bull started the engine. Varric rested his hand on the small of her back, sighing deeply.

“People suck, Princess.” He offered grimly. And this was the world they expected her to save. The one she could very well  _ die _ saving. Was this shitty town full of secrets and rot really worth it? Maria’s head tipped back to rest on the seat, eyes closing, drawn with grief and pale with exhaustion, freckles stark on her skin. 

She was at once the strongest and most fragile thing he’d ever seen. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her for all the money in the world, counting each shallow rise and fall of her chest as Bull drove them through the eerily silent, empty town. Without the corpses, it looked simply abandoned. 

Maybe it fucking  _ should _ be. They could make it a graveyard, burn it to the ground, and erect a monument to the selfishness of men. It would be tall and pointy, oddly phallic, just like all the other memorials to hubris he ever saw. 

“Kaffas.” Dorian swore quietly as they turned the corner to approach the school. He twisted quickly in his seat, grabbing Maria’s knee tightly. “We’ve got a small welcoming committee.” 

“What?” Maria croaked, eyes fluttering open, pulling away from Dorian and straightening to turn her bleary gaze towards the window. Varric noticed Bull’s grip tightening on the steering wheel before he noticed the crowd outside the school.

It had to be the entire remaining population of Crestwood filling the driveway, mingling in the open air, laughing and joyful under the flickering floodlights. As far as they knew, they were safe, sheep no longer waiting for the wolf. They, of course, could celebrate. They either didn’t know what their safety had cost ten years ago, or didn’t care. Certainly didn’t know or care what it cost now. 

“Boss, I could go around back. See if we can’t get in that way.” 

“No.” Maria insisted, voice sharpening just enough to make her sound firm. “If the Mayor is out there I want a word.”

Bull looked like he wanted to argue, but he set his jaw instead. The jeep slowed as they approached the crowd, stopping before it got too dense. He threw it into park and turned to glare at Maria. “Stay in the car until I’m beside you. You get a blade in the ribs, I’m not cleaning it up.” 

“Yes dad.” Maria grumbled. The crowd was whispering excitedly, a hissing noise like a nest of snakes. Varric suddenly wished that they’d gone around the back instead, but it was too late. Bull threw open his door, massive form illuminated in the headlights before he pulled open Maria’s. 

She slipped out and he followed. The second Maria straightened, the crowd drew in a sharp breath. They all seemed to exhale it at once on a tide of sound made of hundreds of words. Varric could only pick out some of them as Maria slowly stepped forward, scanning them warily. 

_ Herald. Andraste. Inquisitor. Miracle. Savior.  _

Bull was on her heels, but it didn’t stop the first person from reaching out trembling fingers to brush against Maria’s arm, like they were seeking a piece of the divine. The first person started a flood, everyone surging forward, not even deterred by Bull’s massive presence. 

_ Heaven. Maker. Mercy. Maria. Maria. Maria.  _

Maria tried to withdraw into Bull, his arm coming down to try and block most of the greedy hands reaching for her, these people acting like they could claw the divine right out of her skin. The thought of that shattered the shock that held him frozen, made him step forward to take his place on her right, squeezing her tight between them. Dorian rushed ahead, scattering the crowd with nothing more than his sharp voice telling people to make way for the Inquisitor. 

It was almost suffocating. The crowd seemed to grow thicker, pressing against them even as they struggled through Maria had summoned up a ghost of a smile for the people that was almost pleading, her exhaustion showing through the cracks in her mask. 

“Move!” Cassandra’s voice boomed and, Maker, he’d never been happier to hear it. The crowd parted and within a moment both Blackwall and Cassandra were ushering them through the chanting crowd, the rumble of their worship dark with greed. Even the Seeker looked shaken by their fervor. 

“Balls.” Hawke was staring, aghast, through the door the Seeker was slamming shut. “Holy  _ balls _ . They  _ actually _ think…” 

“You look like shit, Inquisitor.” Harding twisted the strap of her camera nervously, flicking her gaze critically across Maria, then glaring at the sound of singing come from outside. 

“I feel like shit, thanks for noticing.” Maria’s voice cracked with the effort, but she was staring at Cassandra with furious focus. “The Mayor…”

“Gone.” Cassandra’s voice dripped with disgust and Maria wilted further. “We did catch many of the rest of the council preparing to flee, although they will not admit why. They have been taken into custody.” 

“We locked them in the principal’s office.” Hawke whispered conspiratorially. “I wanted to put them in the boiler room, but we couldn’t find it.” 

“Ah good.” Dorian remarked wryly. “We’re summoning people who commit mass executions to the principal’s office. Charmingingly ingenious of us.” 

“What?” Cassandra asked, alarmed. “You… you found the corpses were victims of…” 

“They locked blight victims in the hospital to starve to death.” Bull answered. He hadn’t let go of Maria’s shoulder, but Varric couldn’t remove his arm from her waist either. He was afraid they were the only things holding her up. “It’s absolutely Qunari of them. I’m almost impressed.” 

“We’ll search for the mayor.” Blackwall promised darkly. “He should be brought to justice.” 

“Justice won’t bring those people back.” 

Maria’s whispered words rang out like gunshots. She shook with something that may have been a suppressed sob under his palm and raised her own hands to her eyes, covering them and pressing hard. “Fuck.  _ Fuck. _ ”

“You’re exhausted.” Cassandra observed, frowning severely. 

“No shit.” Varric hissed. “She needs to rest. Somewhere the crazy religious people aren’t gonna try to tear the shirt off her back.” 

“We’ll get a cot into one of the rooms and make sure nobody accidentally wanders back there.” Dorian agreed. “I’ll set it up, my dear. Do try not to collapse before then.” 

“I’ll help.” Hawke offered cheerfully, following Dorian. “I found out where the council was keeping the good sheets.”

“I thought you were supposed to be locating your Warden.” Dorian reminded her acidicly as they slipped into the gym doors, the cavernous space near empty without the mass of people inside. 

“If that was a thank you, you’re very welcome.” Hawke snapped back. 

“Inquisitor.” A low voice rumbled in greeting from the very end of the hall. Varric twisted his arm around Maria’s waist tighter and she lowered her hands from her eyes to look up into the trucker’s face, the one that had warned them about the hospital in the first place. He looked serious, but serene. “Nice job. Do you have a minute?” 

“Can it fucking wait, Jerry?” Maria blurted out, despairing. Jerry nearly immediately raised his hands in a posture of self-defense. 

“Course it can. You get some rest, ma’am.” he said genially instead. “If you’re looking for a private place, I don’t think anybody went poking around the old science wing.” 

Maria nodded heavily and Jerry stepped to the side, watching their group push past. Varric couldn’t help but think the man watched them with far too much interest. It made his chest hair prickle. 

He made a note to himself to start digging for information on the trucker. Better safe than sorry. 

* * *

_ The frail old woman kneeling before the small, stone altar barely looked like Zarra Cadash. Her fingers trembled as she placed a stick of smoking incense in the hands of a statue, a representation of some revered ancestor, one whose name Maria couldn’t quite remember. Nor could she recall the story attached to the figurine, or even whether Nanna had taken her medicine that morning.  _

_ She couldn’t remember anything, couldn’t think of anything, except that Nanna’s wrists were bird thin, her skin nearly translucent in the dim light of her living room. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. Nanna should be healthy. Should be whole. But Zarra was ignorant of Maria’s internal monologue. Nanna simply fussed with the stones lining the altar, the tablets with her ancestor’s names inscribed in the old runes of the dwarves.  _

_ “It wouldn’t hurt you to ask for guidance from time to time either.” Zarra muttered, like they were in the middle of an argument. Fuck, for all she knew, maybe they were.  _

_ “I don’t think the Ancestors listen to me.” Maria answered dully. _

_ “Nonsense.” Zarra huffed, hunching her shoulders forward. They looked so slim under the tattered robe, it made Maria’s throat tighten. If Nanna took it off, they could count all her bones under her skin. “You’re the one that doesn’t listen. Stubborn, like your father.”  _

_ His tablet wasn’t on the altar, it wasn’t allowed. It sat, collecting dust, in a box underneath. That wasn’t fair either, but Nanna followed the rules. She did everything she was supposed to.  _

_ It didn’t matter, in the end.  _

_ Something pounded on the door to Nanna’s apartment. Maria turned in time to watch the entire surface shudder in the frame. Icy fear made her break out into a cold sweat when something began to reach under the door, something with too many legs, skittering, spindly claws reaching for them. _

_ “Are you afraid, Maria?”  _

_ She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to look back at Nanna because she knew what she’d find. She wanted to ignore it. Ignore all of it. She wanted to go back to her childhood bedroom, hide beneath her blanket, tune out the world. She wanted… _

_ “Are you afraid?” Zarra demanded.  _

_ Maria opened her eyes and whirled to face the figure at the altar. It wasn’t her grandmother, not anymore. Something was buzzing, the sound nearly loud enough to drown out her racing heart, but she didn’t know what it was. Zarra staggered to her feet, robe falling from her mottled, rotting skin. Her hand reached out, nails turning to claws, a menacing grin stretching bloody gums. She could hear the question again, reverberating in her head, but not in Zarra’s voice.  _

_ Are you afraid?  _

_ “No.” She whispered, defiant.  _

_ “You should be.” Zarra’s words brought flicks of red spittle to pale lips. Then the walking corpse that was her grandmother lunged.  _

* * *

She awoke alone to nothing but darkness and that strange, incessant buzzing. The scratchy, polyester blanket was twisted, plastered to sweat-slicked skin. She struggled out of it, reaching without thought for the buzzing item on the desk near her makeshift cot. 

She didn’t look at the Caller ID. It could only be one person in the middle of the night. 

“Bea?” She greeted hoarsely, putting the phone to her ear. “What is it? You okay?” 

“Am I okay?” Bea repeated, stunned. “Am I okay? Oh, I’m  _ peachy _ . The worst thing I’ve got to deal with is this damn cat Cole found from stone knows where. You’re fighting  _ zombies _ in the middle of nowhere. I don’t even know which part of that sentence is most frightening.” 

“A cat?” She repeated dumbly, swinging her legs from the cot and staring around the empty classroom, her eyes adjusting to find the deeper shadows of desks and chairs. Putting the cot in this room had seemed like a good idea, to get away from the press of the crowd, their clawing, grubby hands. The way they looked at her like she was something divine they couldn’t comprehend made her ill. She had wanted her fucking privacy, but now all she wanted was a friendly face to greet her instead of silent emptiness. 

“A big old mean thing. It’s got half a tail, a chipped ear, and hisses at anyone that isn’t Cole. It’s scaring everyone and their mother half to death and I’ve  _ tried _ to tell him to get rid of it, but you know he just said some crazy shit. You’ll have to deal with it when you get back.” Bea’s rambling voice in her ears made the darkness ease. If she closed her eyes, she could almost believe she’d fallen asleep at one of the warehouses in Ostwick and Bea had called looking for her. 

“Right. Zombies. Crazy religious fanatics. Cats.” This was her life now. She pinched her nose, hard, trying to clear the fog and fear from her brain. 

“So I’m gonna go ahead and assume you’re less than okay.” Bea sighed, the sound carrying through the phone. “Cass told me you were tired. She didn’t say anything else.” 

She wasn’t just tired. She was exhausted. “It’s been a day.”

“Did you find your Warden?” 

She almost laughed, rubbing her face with her hand. “Not yet. Got distracted by zombies and murder.” 

“Well, clearly, they should fire you. Then we can go somewhere else, I bet Antiva is nice this time of year.” Bea forced humor into her voice, but Maria was already shaking her head. 

They had to stick this out for a hundred reasons. There was the magic aching dully in her palm, the demon who wanted her dead, the hundred or more people who thought she could save them, and Dwyka stalking Thedas waiting for revenge. If he could take it, if he thought he could get away with it, that she wasn’t as powerful as the Inquisition made her look… 

If Bea wasn’t locked in a magic castle, safe and sound, there’d be a good chance she’d be rotting in a grave with Nanna sooner rather than later. “I want to do this.” 

“Do you?” Bea asked, instantly suspicious. “Really?” 

Not tonight. Tonight, she wanted to vanish into thin air and start over somewhere else. Anywhere else. “Yes.” She lied through her teeth. “I’m alright.” 

“That was almost convincing.” 

“You’re almost not annoying.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“I’d hate to steal what you’re good at.” 

Bea actually laughed, a throaty, pleased sound that brightened the room even though she was a hundred miles away. “That sounded like something Nanna would say. Beatrix, your skirt is too short. Beatrix, I can see your bra straps, Beatrix...” 

If Nanna could see them now, she’d tear her own hair out. She never understood Bea’s choice of fashion or her sister’s cheerfully promiscuous nature, but she would have had an easier time accepting that than the mess Maria landed in with bleeding humans treating her like a  _ god _ . Before she could really consider her words, she blurted out: “Do you remember Nanna putting stones everywhere?” 

“Yeah. Of course I do.” Bea sounded almost insulted. “She used to keep pyrite in her pocketbook, she said it attracted wealth. I know you think it’s full of shit, but I’ve got a belly button ring with pyrite in it and I always got better tips when I wore it.” 

She snorted and rolled her eyes to the empty room. “What was it she kept inside the door of the apartment?” 

Bea paused, clearly caught off guard. “The shiny black one? Tourmaline. She said it was supposed to ward off evil, remember? She gave us bracelets made out of it. I don’t know what the fuck you did to yours, but I still had mine until Haven.”

Dwyka ripped it off her wrist years ago, but she never told Bea. They’d been outside a bar while he smoked. She’d been cold, she’d wanted to go home. He told a joke that wasn’t funny and nobody laughed, but he said  _ she _ rolled her eyes at him. He grabbed her arm and the bracelet snapped, the stone beads bouncing off the concrete. She hadn’t been able to stop and pick them up. 

If it warded off evil, it didn’t work on him. 

“I’ll get you a new one.” She promised. “I’ll bring it back with me.” 

“Get one for yourself.” Bea scoffed. “You’re the one that’s fighting the undead and demons. Ancestors, I’m not sure this isn’t some crazy nightmare still.” 

Maria couldn’t agree more. “Well. When you wake up, let me know.” 

The silence on the other end of the line was heavy. Maria scrambled for something to say to fill it, but Bea spoke first. “You know, I’m not sure if this is the best thing that’s ever happened to you or the worst.” 

Maria had some pretty clear opinions, and she started to voice them voraciously, but before the words could quite come to her lips, they died. Yes. The awful walk through the crowd, the way they touched her, whispered her name, that was terrible. But Skyhold bursting to life, the times she pressed food into hungry hands, when she spoke and was heard, Bull’s quiet pride, Bea humming constantly, Dorian laughing, Varric…

“I don’t know either.” She admitted, falling backwards onto the cot. “Tell me what’s happening there.” 

* * *

Maria was wide awake by the time Bea hung up, at least an hour later. When the phone screen went dark, all that was left was the flashing light up top indicating all the notifications she didn’t have it in her to read. The darkness returned with a vengeance, the shadows looked almost ominous stretching across the room. 

The longer she sat in the blackness, the more she could convince herself that the spidery legs from her dream would begin tapping up the walls or appear under the desks. Out of the dark, skeletal hands would appear, whispering her name with missing jaws. Maria pressed the heel of her hands to her eyes, trying to block it out. All she succeeded in doing was giving herself a raging headache, but…

Then she picked a sound out of the quiet. Something beyond her thudding heart. She dropped her hands and tipped her head, listening with rapt concentration. It took another moment before she could place it.  _ Music _ . Acoustic guitar, she thought, like someone strumming in a coffee shop. It was near about two in the fucking morning, who in their right mind…

Before she could consider it further, she was up, pulling on her sneakers. She didn’t bother putting her bra on, but she did throw her jacket over top of the baggy t-shirt, just in case she ran into anyone. She slipped to the door and threw it open, blinking in the yellowed old flourescent lightbulbs of the hallway. 

Maria found the source of the music three doors down. She paused outside the door, opened the tiniest crack for the light from the hall to spill in. Through it, she could see the dim glow of a laptop screen at an old teacher’s desk and a shadowy shape sitting in front of it. One she’d strangely know anywhere. 

Her form blocked the light and made him look up, catching sight of her shadow. For a second, there was nothing but the gentle sound of a guitar drifting through the room. Then he half-whispered her name. “Maria? Andraste’s ass. What are you doing up?” 

“Bea called.” She answered softly. “Something about Cole and a cat. I don’t know.”

She paused, uncertain, one hand on the wooden door. This was her cue to go back to the uncomfortable cot, back to the oppressive darkness, back to her nightmares and despair. 

“You alright, Princess?” He asked, pushing his chair away with a too-loud scrape, going to stand from the desk. She took the chance to slip through the cracked door and shut it soundly behind her, plunging them into darkness. He stopped moving, frozen in the dim glow, peering into the darkness half sitting, half standing. She picked her way cautiously around the one armed desks and the lone, forlorn cot shoved up against the wall. 

She wasn’t alright, not by a long shot. Admitting it, however, was a different story. The words stuck in her throat, even when she slipped from the shadows to his side. He slowly lowered himself back into his chair, staring up at her face with an expression of concern. 

She ignored his scrutiny, focusing on the laptop screen instead. Words spilled across the white screen, but she couldn’t focus on the structure of them. Instead, bits and pieces jumped out at her. Demon. Corpse. Murder. Her name. 

_ Her name. _

She pulled her eyes away, frowning, to look down at Varric. “What are you writing?”

He sighed, shifting his attention back to the word document and the cursor blinking on his screen. “Somebody’s gotta tell people what happened here.” 

“Isn’t that why we have Harding?” Maria asked, leaning back against the hard edge of the desk. Varric’s face looked as heavy as her whole body felt, like he too had lived a decade in a day.

He shook his head in response, managing to plaster a wry smirk on his lips. “She wasn’t there. So it’s up to me to try and do you justice.” 

_ Justice _ . The word rang hollow in her stomach. There wasn’t enough justice in the world to make what she’d seen right, to give those poor people what they deserved. She bit her lip and stared at her sneakers, the silence heavy. 

“There wasn’t anything left of them.” The thought spilled from her lips, more upsetting than she wanted to admit. “All those people are just  _ gone _ . I know humans burn their dead but there wasn’t anything left.” 

“Hey. Hey.” Varric rested a comforting palm over her arm, rough fingers against her bare skin. “They’ll bring in chantry sisters. Say some prayers. Have a service. It’s not as good as a real funeral, but it’s better than what they had.” 

“Is that enough?” She asked, blinking quickly to hide the tears in her eyes. “Fuck. Those people probably believed in this shit, and all they get is some prayers and locked in a fucking hospital to die?” 

“This is your dwarfiness talking, Princess.” Varric’s tone was warm, patient. “Humans don’t care so much about their bodies going anywhere. It’s all about setting their soul free and I can’t think of a better damn description for what you did today. I’m willing to bet Andraste herself is dancing naked with joy. If she exists.” 

The thought was so cheerfully blasphemous, and so much better than the stone statues of Andraste peering at her disapprovingly, that Maria laughed. She rubbed her eyes briskly with both hands, shaking off the weight of Varric’s hand. “Fuck. I’m just tired.” 

“Course you are.” Varric dropped his hand back to the desk, a scant inch from where her hips pressed against the hard edge. “Saving the world is exhausting work, particularly when you insist on doing it so well. You should head back to bed.” 

She didn’t want to. She wanted to stay, listen to his warm voice, as soothing as the feeling of Nanna’s bitter team sweetened with honey and a dash of whiskey. She felt ridiculous clinging to this nebulous thing, to him, but… 

Ancestors, if he just kept talking a little longer, she’d be happy. She may be able to forget. “The only part of Andraste I know about is that they burned her alive. Which is a particularly shit way to go, may I add.” 

Varric actually chuckled, the sound curling around her in the dim glow of his laptop and the darkness that seemed so much less heavy in his presence. “That’s not how she actually died, Princess. They  _ did _ set her on fire, but there was some bastard there, the one who passed the sentence. He couldn’t stand watching what he’d started, so he drove a sword through her chest.”

“Oh, so the humans set her on fire and then  _ stabbed _ the blighted woman?” Maria asked, trying to sound affronted. “What, just to make sure she was really dead?”

Varric shrugged helplessly with the shadow of a wry grin. “I think they called it mercy.” 

She laughed, more exasperated than amused, and brought one hand up to her collarbone, holding his eyes with a mocking grin while she traced a morbid target in the air over her heart. “Well. If they throw me on the pyre, promise to shoot straight and put me out of my misery.” 

It could have been a trick of the light, but his eyes seemed to darken with sorrow. He stood from his chair in a smooth movement, capturing her hand in his. His big fingers curled around her palm, thumb resting just above where her pulse thudded in her wrist. 

She wondered if he could feel it start to race. 

“I think I’d prefer to rescue you, Princess.” He promised quietly. “It would be both dashing  _ and _ daring, then you’d have no choice but to admit how impressive you find me.”

The retort, the one that would keep the crumbling wall between them shored up, was slow to come to the tip of her tongue. Too slow. She struggled to find it, watching him bring her knuckles to his lips and press a soft, chaste kiss there. 

The universe lurched, not as violently the first time she’d crashed into him. This time, however, she feared it would never right itself. She was even more afraid she didn’t want it to. 

“I’d never admit it.” The words sounded breathy, hopeful. A younger woman’s voice in her mouth, a girl she thought she’d laid to rest long ago. “But… maybe I’d find some other way to show my appreciation.” 

There was an uncertain shadow to his smile, one even more pronounced in the darkness. She straightened her posture, brought herself more firmly into the orbit of his personal space. Maria could feel the warmth of him seeping into her chilled skin, even with the scant inch between them, their only contact the pinpricks of heat searing her skin where he held her hand tenderly in his own. 

Varric’s eyes never left hers, but there was a harshness, a vulnerability in his voice when he spoke again. “How do we keep ending up here, Princess?” 

The laugh that escaped her just rode the edge of hysterical. “Fuck if I know.” 

It was like they couldn’t help it, like forces beyond their control kept putting them right back here, on the edge of an abyss, trembling and uncertain. 

“We could stop.” He was trying to keep his voice light, trying to keep the undercurrent of need out of it, but she could hear it still. More than that, even as he spoke the words his grip on her hand tightened. There was a part of him trying to pull back, but also a part of him desperate  _ not _ to. 

She wasn’t certain they  _ could _ stop. Wasn’t certain they hadn’t been headed to this moment like a runaway train since that first time she kissed his cheek on a mountaintop when she was sure the world was ending. She’d thought it was a goodbye, thought she wasn’t coming back down. 

She’d been right, in a way. There was no going back. Not now. Not  _ ever _ . 

“Maybe.” Things were different now.  _ She _ was different. “But I don’t want to.” 

She brought her other hand to his jaw, fingertips brushing the loose strands of his hair. The rough stubble under her skin, the broad strength of his jaw, his lips slowly curling up into a disbelieving smile. One she felt herself matching in spite of herself, dizzy with a tornado of emotions as she stepped firmly into his space. He dropped her hand to wrap his arms around her waist until she was flush against him, her chin tipped up, his mouth dropping to hers. 

She felt like she could barely remember their first kiss, that frenzied meeting of desire and white hot need, but there was something familiar about this one regardless. It was slower, both of them melting into the embrace, opening as naturally as breathing. There was desire there too, a ghost of an old friend, but it was lost in their mutual exhaustion and relief, the way they clung to each other like scared children afraid of what lingered outside the warm bubble of light. 

When they broke apart she found her hands were clutching at his shirt so hard she was wrinkling the fine fabric, but she couldn’t make herself let go. Their foreheads touched and Maria thought she could be forgiven for forgetting that they weren’t the only two people left in the world. 

She wanted so many things, but she didn’t know how to ask for any of them. She didn’t remember it being so difficult before, but she was older now. Her soul was a shattered, broken thing. 

“Maria.” He breathed her name like a prayer, one broad hand rising to stroke a soft, reassuring line down her spine. She closed her eyes, afraid to see the rejection she swore would come as the weak words spilled out of her lips. 

“I wouldn’t mind some company. I’m fucking exhausted, but I don’t… I…” 

_ Stay with me _ . She begged inside her mind.  _ Stay. I don’t want to be alone. _

“It won’t be comfortable, baby.” Varric pressed a soft kiss on her forehead like he could read the thoughts there. “But it wasn’t like I was planning on sleeping well tonight on that damn cot. I may even do a bit better with you here.” 

She couldn’t help it. In the next moment she had her arms twisted tight around his neck, her head buried in his shoulder, breathing him in like he could vanish in the morning. His arms tightened around her in return. She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, nor was she entirely certain how he guided her back to the cot she’d swaggered past. 

When the light from the laptop extinguished itself, leaving nothing but the dark, she was no longer alone. Not anymore. Varric’s arms cradled her to his chest, and when sleep came, it was blissfully dreamless. 


	43. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric and Maria navigate the morning after the fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:
> 
> 1\. I desperately need to get these chapter lengths back under control. I can give y'all 4k-5k chapters once a week. I cannot give you 8k chapters. Especially if I'm working on another AU. WHICH I AM SO GET READY.  
2\. Because I cannot give you 8k chapters all the time, enjoy 5k that's mostly fluff and pining.

_ Mornings. _ The one point of the day where Varric Tethras allowed himself to ruminate about how old he’d gotten. After all, he’d never signed up for the ache in his hip, a sore shoulder, and a stiff neck to be his ever-present wake-up calls at the crack of dawn. 

Even though all those things were there, and twice as awful as usual thanks to the narrow, uncomfortable cot, he couldn’t quite find the appropriate venom to complain about anything. Instead, he’d woken to find last night _ hadn’t _ been his exhausted mind conjuring a pale daydream to comfort him. 

The woman with her back pressed firm to his chest was far more vivid than even his treacherous imagination. Her crimson hair spilled like warm fire between them. He could smell something floral trapped within it, but he couldn’t _ quite _ place it. It reminded him of summer in Hightown, complete with elegant broad avenues and unruly trees dripping with blooms.

The rest of Maria’s curvy form was tucked securely against him. Under his arm, thrown casually over her waist, she felt sleep-warmed and soft. Her breath came even and slow under his touch, indicating she rested deep in the fade still. Varric _ wished _ he could see the way her face relaxed while she dreamed in his arms, but he could be content with this. 

In fact, he relished the opportunity to drop his face to the delicate curve of her ear. He traced his broken nose carefully past the glimmer of silver hoops in her ear, typically hidden by her hair. This was their shared secret now, something that belonged only to him. 

Greedy bastard that he was, he filed it all away. The heady scent, the silky skin, her warmth seeping into him like a balm. This moment hung in suspension, as delicate as a soap bubble hovering in mid-air. One that would, eventually, pop and douse them back in cold reality. When it did, he’d have to figure out how to define what _ this _ was and what it could be. He’d need to decide what he _ wanted _ it to be. 

Worse. He could need to confront that what _ he _ wanted wasn’t the same thing that _ she _ wanted. Maria Cadash, after all, had been exhausted when she stumbled into this room, still reeling from a day that seemed to last an age even for him. Could anyone blame her for taking cold comfort where she could find it, even in the arms of a known liar and scoundrel? 

Varric realized he hadn’t had to navigate something new in _ years _. All he could do was flounder and try to reach back to rattle memories of a more pleasant world, one where a young man impressed a brilliant woman with clever flattery and flowery promises. It worked on Bianca, after all.

If you could count ‘marrying someone else’ as working, he guessed. 

_ Maker’s balls. _

He tucked his forehead into Maria’s hair, frowning thoughtfully. His fingers began to trace a pattern up and down the gentle curve of Maria’s stomach under the baggy shirt she wore, a flimsy barrier to her tempting skin. 

There were questions about them, honestly more questions than answers, and he needed to be thinking about that. But the thought of her skin under that shirt, the baggy sweatpants that looked and felt so much like his favorite old ones… His traitorous mind conjured up the sounds she made the night he’d _ nearly _ had her where he’d always wanted her. The way her skin turned pink and rosy with desire. He could almost hear his name falling from her lips again, half plea and half command, while she tugged on his hair to guide his mouth right where she needed it. 

He closed his eyes tightly and let out a long, heated breath, gritting his teeth together to force his body back under control. They _ shouldn’t _ go one step further down that path until they had some idea where they stood, before _ either _ of them got in over their heads. And even if he was inclined (and his body definitely was, no matter what his mind thought about the whole thing) he wouldn’t be showing her a good time in this musty old classroom on a cot that would probably collapse if they rolled over too quickly. 

Despite being caught up in his own mind, fighting off the sudden surge of lust, he couldn’t miss the small changes in Maria. Her breathing shifted and she stirred slightly. He quickly stopped his trailing fingers, but left them where they were.

The second his thoughtful stroking ceased, she stiffened beside him, every muscle going rigid with tension. He removed his hand all together, hovering over her skin. He tried to keep his voice carefully casual as he spoke. “Morning, Princess.” 

Maria’s breath gusted out in something that almost sounded like a shocked laugh. She brought her hand up to rub the sleep from her eyes, but made no move to escape him further while she greeted him with a sultry little lilt. “Varric.” 

He still didn’t know if she was terribly upset about waking up beside him or happy at the turn of events. His mind spun anxiously, but Maria wasn’t content to let him think himself into a corner. In one graceful movement, far too easily for someone who’d just woken, she rolled underneath his arm, silver eyes dancing with good humor in the dusty light streaming from the yellowed windows. She propped her head up on her marked hand and threw the other arm over his waist, hooking her leg over his thigh to tangle them up further. Half her smile quirked up before she spoke again. “Morning.” 

For a brief, shocking moment, Varric only had one thought. It was as bright as a flash of lightning, clear and piercing. It’s echoes stayed with him, even as it dissipated. 

_ I could spend the rest of my life waking up like this _.

He didn’t think, he acted. He pressed his forehead to hers and brushed their noses together. The warm, relieved chuckle from his chest sounded louder in the enclosed space created by their entwined bodies. With his palm on her back, he resumed his thoughtful stroking up and down her spine. “Sleep alright?” 

“Mmmhmm.” She made a pleased little noise, closing her eyes and pressing more firmly into his chest like a cat demanding more attention. “Your cot’s better than mine.” 

“You should go on strike.” He advised semi-seriously, heart lifting as the other edge of her smile curled up. “Protest these terrible working conditions.” 

“I’ll let you have the better cot, old man.” She teased in return. “I don’t want your joints acting up.” 

Varric huffed, feigning annoyance. “Real charitable of you, Princess. Considering you’re in said cot taking up a good portion of it.” 

She kept her eyes closed, but dipped her chin down so he couldn’t read her expression quite as well. “I could go back to mine.” 

Something inside him rolled torturously. He lifted his own chin and pressed his lips to her forehead, whispering against warm skin words that didn’t quite capture what he wanted to say. “You’re already here. May as well stay awhile.” 

“I am comfortable.” She mumbled, stretching herself out, rolling against him from head to foot in a manner far too artful to be anything but a ploy to destroy his gentlemanly resolve. It almost worked and if she did it again, it certainly would. “If I’m not in the way…” 

Get in the way, he wanted to demand. She’d already thrown his life into chaos, made him realize how empty what he’d been holding onto really was. 

The least she could do was continue to throw wrenches into his carefully laid plans, it was only fair. 

“I could move you if I wanted.” Flirting was easier than feelings. Casual was easier than confiding. 

Maria’s smouldering gaze lifted to his again, then raked over his jaw, burning a purposeful path down bare shoulders and brazenly displayed chest. She almost purred out the words. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

It had been nice to pretend, for a second, he had enough willpower to resist her. He was a heartbeat away from capturing those sinfully plump lips in a lingering kiss, morning breath be damned, when the sound of commotion in the hallway stopped him short. Without meaning too, he tightened his grip on Maria, squeezing her to his chest, listening to the shouting until it became distinct.

“The Inquisitor is not in her room!” Cassandra snapped loudly at _ someone _. Varric could only hope it wasn’t everyone. “We must organize a search…” 

“Fucking ancestors.” Maria swore, bringing her hands up to his shoulders to push away from him. 

Fucking _ Cassandra _ , more like it. Varric may not be on speaking terms with any of his ancestors, but he knew they had to at least pity him enough _ not _ to put him through this shit first thing in the morning. Maria leveraged herself out of the cot, scratchy thin blanket falling across his skin where she’d been. 

“Get up.” She hissed, reaching for the discarded coat and throwing it on. She didn’t bother to zip it, diving for her discarded sneakers instead. “Unless you want her to choke on her own soddin’ outrage.” 

“That doesn’t sound like the worst plan you’ve had, Princess.” He’d enjoy Cassandra gagging on the sight of Maria Cadash in his cot very much, thank you. In spite of his complaints, he sat up. His sore back throbbed, an angry reminder that his cot really _ wasn’t _ that comfortable. He wondered if Mara’s was any better. His delay earned him a stern glare from the object of his thoughts and he shrugged helplessly. Taking the cue, he slipped from the cot and lifted his arms over his head, stretching towards the crumbling plaster tiles and yawning, loudly. 

He opened his eyes just in time to see the heat flashing across Maria’s fine features. She faltered for a minute in the act of combing fingers through her hair, trying to make it less sleep mused. The air between them ignited into scorching heat from the sparks in her eyes. He felt a jerk like gravity thrusting him forward, too powerful to be ignored. 

“Varric…” She said his name like a plea, but fuck if he could tell if she was begging him to step away from the inferno or into it. All he knew was that if he had to go, burning in her fire wasn’t the worst way to do it. 

The door to his room shuddered under the force of a brutal fist thudding against it, but he couldn’t look away from her. “Varric!” Bull yelled. “You seen boss around?” 

Maria and Varric stared at each other in silence. Neither moving to open the door. Neither even opening their mouth to respond. When they opened that door, the moment was over. Daylight would intrude on the comfort they stole in the shadows, leaving nothing but a distant memory. Varric couldn’t bear to be the one to make that call. 

The door shuddered again, another shout sounding rather more aggravated. “Varric!” 

“For fuck’s sake.” Maria tore her eyes from him and stalked to the door, throwing it open before the qunari managed to knock it in. Bull loomed over her, one hand still raised in the air mid-knock. The look on Maria’s face would make even the toughest man shrivel into himself. “I’m right fuckin’ here! Stop screaming for me!” 

Bull didn’t respond to her tirade. He merely looked, far too sharply, at Maria’s rumbled hair, wrinkled shirt, and half laced shoes. His eyes then swung quickly to the left, lips curving up into a wicked grin, when he caught sight of Varric, shirtless, beside his cot. 

Maria didn’t blush, even when Bull smirked down at her rather pointedly. “What do you _ want _?” She asked instead. 

“You’re not wearing a bra, boss.” Bull rumbled with keen interest, crossing his arms over his own bare chest. 

_ Oh for fuck’s sake. _Varric fought the urge to cough into his sleeve, keeping his face as neutral as possible. 

Maria’s own expression didn’t falter for a moment. She lifted an eyebrow cooly and swept her eyes down the expanse of chiseled Qunari flesh. “Neither are you, but I was too polite to say anything.” 

There went any hope of keeping his face blank. He choked back the laugh, but couldn’t help the pleased smirk. Andraste have mercy, if she were any quicker on her feet, he’d have no choice but to write a whole novel dedicated to her best bon mots. 

Bull didn’t bother to hide his warm chuckle, pivoting too gracefully for a man of his size to reveal both Cassandra and Dorian. Dorian’s hair stuck up in a rather interesting way, annoyance warring with amusement on every line of his face. Cassandra’s face, however, was growing steadily red and splotchy with anger. “What are you doing?” She demanded, staring down her noble nose at Maria. 

Maria lifted her chin in defiance. Her eyes flashed. “I’m trying to figure out why my damn emails keep rearranging themselves.” 

Her lie thudded in his chest like a bullet. Well, at least he knew where things stood. It wasn’t like the thought was shocking, after all. The last thing the Inquisitor needed was a potentially disastrous entanglement with a known liar. Maria continued, ignorant of his bleeding heart. “Why are you _ screaming _ for me? Are you trying to wake up _ more _ undead?” 

“I thought you’d been kidnapped.” Cassandra’s blood was beginning to recede from her face. Unfortunately, it was rising to the surface of Maria’s in turn. 

“Seeker.” Maria jabbed her finger into Cassandra’s chest pointedly. “If somebody tries to soddin’ kidnap me, you’re not going to sleep through it. Trust me.” 

“Well, we apparently slept through whatever happened here.” Dorian stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “Perhaps you’re not as loud as I thought-” 

“Who’s loud?” Hawke slurred from the hallway, clearly still half asleep, but Cassandra’s commotion and Bull’s pounding had been enough to rouse her. “Varric? Snores like a son of a bitch.” 

Just what this situation needed. _ Hawke. _

Like he summoned her from the ether, the witch elbowed her way in between Dorian and Cassandra, stopped short only by the tiny, furious dwarf in the doorway. Hawke blinked down at her before her lips curved in a beaming grin that immediately twisted in his direction. “In a _ school _, Varric? I think that earns you a detention.” 

“If I have to ask what you all want one more time, I’m slamming this door in your face.” Maria warned. “You’ve got ten seconds.” 

“Well, in that case I think we should all turn around and-” Hawke began, clapping her hands together. 

“Inquisition support is arriving, but they require orders. They’re prepared to assist with relief efforts, interviewing survivors, and investigating what was found at the hospital.” Cassandra reported briskly, shooting Varric a look that was just short of enough to kill a man. “If you’re done with… whatever you needed from Varric.” 

The confusion clouding Maria’s face was almost laughable. She opened her mouth, bewildered, as if to ask what any of that had to do with her. Like her sleep addled mind forgot she was in charge of issuing those orders. By the time it caught up, the red flush going up her ears was less temper and more embarrassment. 

“Right.” Maria began uneasily. “Let me get dressed.” 

“Must you?” Hawke sighed. 

“She must.” Dorian insisted. “Come along, Cadash. Unless you need more time to sort out your emails?” 

The teasing lilt in Dorian’s voice was unmistakable, a clear sign that he wasn’t buying that story for a moment. Hawke pursed her lips together and shrugged nonchalantly, pushing past Maria into the classroom and sauntering over to the desk where his laptop still sat, screen long gone dead and dark, but he’d never even shut it. Hawke took that in, plus the hastily discarded earpiece, before she collapsed on the recently abandoned cot. 

That was going to prove problematic, but before he could tell her to get off, Maria turned to shoot him an almost uncertain smile over her shoulder. “We’ll finish up later.” 

That… that sounded suspiciously like a promise. The sinking feeling in his gut dissipated in a bright burst of light. “Right, Princess.” He returned her smile with one of his own. One that hopefully concealed the buzzing chaos that one gesture unleashed. “Later.” 

Was it just him, or did her smile tip up a little more at the edges before she dove into the hallway, parting Cassandra and Dorian easily. Varric spared a heartbeat to watch her crimson hair vanish before he turned to a very nosy Hawke sniffing suspiciously at the pillow. 

“Honeysuckle certainly suits you, Varric.” Hawke’s predatory grin showed off far too many teeth. “Not your usual scent.” 

Honeysuckle. _ That _ was the flower he hadn’t recognized. He filed it away in his memory eagerly, the same place he tucked the smoky sound of her voice when she’d woken and the feel of her thigh hooked over his. 

“A man can’t indulge his feminine side every once in a while?” Varric asked, affecting a hurt expression while he gently shut the laptop and picked the earpiece up. “I’m trying to get skin as smooth as a baby’s bottom.” 

“And you took Bianca out of your ear.” Hawke looked positively gleeful. “I didn’t know it came _ off _ anymore, Varric. I swear you started showering with her.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, can’t wash behind your ears that way.” Varric insisted, nestling the earpiece back into place. She wasn’t entirely wrong. He didn’t shower with Bianca, although she’d occasionally pop in over the bluetooth speaker in his old apartment, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d fallen asleep and remembered to take her out. 

“Bianca?” Varric asked, waiting for the chime that acknowledged he had her attention. “Are you rearranging Maria Cadash’s emails?” 

There was a brief pause. Then Bianca’s calm voice floated through his ear. “I would say her system of organization was inefficient, but I do not believe she had a system to start with.” 

Maker help him. “Knock it off until I get a chance to explain your particular brand of helpfulness.” 

“While broaching the discussion, may I recommend informing her that she should use spell check more often.” 

Hawke must have seen the flicker of irritation on his features, because she began cackling, falling back onto the cot so heavily he had half a moment where he expected her to go down in a tangle of too-long limbs. 

Not that it wouldn’t serve her right. 

“Oh Varric…” Hawke pretended to wipe tears of amusement from her cheeks as she stood and strolled over to the dusty windows. “Only you would end up stuck between a woman and your computer.” 

That statement, and the simple honest truth in it, nearly unmanned him. Only Varric Tethras would end up trapped between a woman and a computer. 

A woman and _ her _ computers. _ Her _ inventions. _ Her _ shampoo that smelt of citrus instead of flowers. _ Her _ ambition and the price of _ her _ genius. 

The earpiece in his ear itched. He fought the urge to rip it back out. 

_ Her. _ When was the last time he’d woken up beside a woman that _ wasn’t _ Bianca Davri? 

Something old inside him ached in protest, a barely scarred wound protesting that he was scratching at the skin around it. He shuddered and reached for his discarded shirt, looking longingly at the cot. 

Despite the ache, he didn’t conjure up turquoise eyes and blonde hair sprawled across it. He couldn’t picture anyone else occupying the space that he knew still held traces of her warmth. 

He honestly wasn’t sure he even wanted to. 

* * *

When Maria saw Leliana sent reinforcements under the care of an elf, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Charter exuded steely determination from the pointed tips of her ears to the heels of her boots, but Maria wasn’t certain that was enough. She carried that worry for all of ten minutes until an overzealous member of Crestwood’s remaining population got a bit feisty. 

Charter, bless her, didn’t even have to hit him. She angled her pointed chin up, let her hand drift threateningly to the baton on her hip, and asked quietly if the man was threatening a representative of the Inquisition. 

Resistance died down pretty quickly after that, although Charter’s praise was effusive. “We couldn’t have done this without you. They trust you cause you saved their damn asses. It’ll help us get to the bottom of what happened here.” 

“Just a day in the life.” Maria tossed a crate of canned food down off the truck into Blackwall’s waiting arms. She wiped her palms on her pants and looked back into the truck. “That’s it.” 

“C’mon then, lass.” Blackwall dropped the crate and held out a steadying arm. “Watch your step.”

She took his offered palm and jumped lightly back to the ground. She took a moment to look around at the milieu. Several whey-faced Crestwood locals stood in a knot staring at her, their cellphones raised. Recording or taking videos of her, she assumed, like she was an animal at the zoo. She hunched her shoulders and turned her back on them while Blackwall glared over her head. 

Volunteers from Skyhold, including some familiar faces, rushed back and forth with supplies ranging from medicine to food. The more surprising turn was the Ferelden detectives they’d brought with them. The two tall humans, with a bleedin’ dog the size of Maria because Fereldens were incapable of going anywhere without one, interviewed people one-by-one.

So far, they’d left her alone except to greet her, thank her for the report she _ hadn’t _ written (bless Dorian’s heart, it had to have been him), and to ask if she’d really secured the town. Maria, prepared for a full interrogation and already looking for Bull’s horns in the crowd, answered them tersely. Then they’d scattered, but it was too much to hope they wouldn’t come back. 

One of the detectives looked up from her notepad and caught her eye. She closed the pad and tucked it in her coat, slipping through the crowd to her side. Maria fought the urge to blend into the crowd and hide, greeting the woman by name instead. “Detective Donall.”

“Inquisitor, may I have a moment?” The human asked, rather more politely than necessary. 

“I’ve got more work to do, if you don’t mind.” Blackwall didn’t like the police either, perhaps even more so than Maria, which was interesting. Without waiting for a response, the bear of a man vanished into the crowd, leaving Maria alone.Cassandra would be _ furious. _ The crowd from the night before shook Maria up, but surprisingly even Cass seemed taken aback. 

If she closed her eyes, Maria could still feel their grimy hands clawing at her. Given the choice, she’d rather go back and take her chances with the zombies than go through that again. At least she _ knew _ what the undead wanted. The living… well. She didn’t have what they thought she did, and eventually they were going to figure that out. 

Ancestors, she hoped she was long gone by then. 

“I swear I’ve seen him before.” Donall murmured, narrowing dark eyes at Blackwall’s back. 

“He’s a Warden.” Maria interjected smoothly. Which, she’d always been told, didn’t mean they weren’t former criminals. But, it was a convenient excuse for recognition in Ferelden. “He said he spent time here, during the blight.” 

“Maker bless him then.” Donall seemed satisfied with that explanation. She turned her eyes back to Maria and nodded, determined. “I don’t think all these people knew what happened down there, but some of ‘em are lying through their teeth. The whole council stinks to bloody hell and back, but they’re blaming it on the mayor.” 

“Convenient, since he’s not here.” 

Donall’s lips twisted into a grimace at her words. “They could of killed the poor bastard. Wouldn’t be the first time someone got murdered to take the fall, but we’ll keep looking. Keep investigating. Don’t know if there will ever be enough proof to track down all of it, but somebody should know what happened here. Blight was a hard time for us, but most of Ferelden came together to get through it. These assholes should be punished for what they did.” 

“I couldn’t agree more.” Maria would never be able to erase that hospital from her mind. She was afraid it would haunt her the rest of her life. 

“So what do you want me to do with the council?” Donall asked smoothly. 

Maria looked up at the human like she’d grown another head. “Sorry?” 

“Don’t know how your ambassador did it,” Donall certainly didn’t look like she approved. “But I’ve got orders straight from the crown. This is your jurisdiction.” 

Well, it turned out Josephine was _ too _ good at her job, and honestly that information wasn’t surprising either. “What am I supposed to do with them?” Maria asked, bewildered. 

“I’d take ‘em out back and shoot ‘em, but it’d probably be bad press.” Donall advised seriously. “Maybe they’re thinking you’ll head a holy war crime tribunal. Which I’d pay money to see, honestly. The world gone mad and a dwarf leading the fuckin’ chantry. Not that you seem a bad sort, just, you’re a dwarf, and, well-” Donall thought better of saying the word ‘carta’, changing her tone to something a bit softer. “Heard your dad was a cop.” 

Here it went. Maria stiffened her spine in preparation. “Yeah. In Ostwick, but it was a long time ago.” 

“My da was too.” Donall offered, frowning. “Two uncles and an aunt too. Uncle Bronn ate his gun when I was fourteen. His son died five years later, overdose.” 

“Heard it’s common.” She answered, cool and aloof. “I’m just the living stereotype. Wayward cop’s children.” 

“I didn’t mean to…” 

“Excuse me.” Maria saw her opportunity for escape in the form of Cassandra appearing on the school steps. She fled Donall’s pity and false understanding towards the lanky form of the Seeker. “Cass, any word on…?”

“The Warden?” Cassandra shook her head, thrusting out a piece of torn paper instead. “But this is addressed to you.” 

The little square of paper was folded cleverly, her name written on the outside, complete with the title she didn’t ask for. She half expected to unfold it and find a sentence asking if she liked the author, with two boxes to check.

Flirt that she’d been, she always drew a third with a question mark. 

Instad, the note contained four perfunctory sentences in the neatest handwriting Maria had ever seen. 

_ Inquisitor - Thanks for the assist. I backed myself into a corner here and wasn’t quite sure what to do. Care for a drink? It’s the least I could do. _

Then, underneath, an address. Maria stared at the note for a moment before whipping her eyes back to Cassandra. “Who left this? Where?” 

“It was with the keys to the jeep. I did not see who left it.” Cassandra made a good show of not angling her head to read it over Maria’s shoulder. Amused, she indulged her and moved the note to the right to give her an easier time. 

Cassandra was so engrossed in the text, she didn’t see the doors open behind her. The morning sun turned Varric’s hair to copper, just like it had when she woke next to him. He was talking to Hawke, eyes on the human above him, phone in his other hand. 

He’d put a shirt back on, which was fucking criminal (and she’d know), and thrown his old leather coat over it. But, those damn buttons were undone down his chest, and Maria also knew she could get the rest _ undone _ in about ten seconds. 

Cassandra pulled her own phone from her pocket to type in the address in the note, giving Varric time to feel her gaze on him. The moment their eyes met, Maria’s stomach flipped deliciously. His smile curled up lazily like smoke and she felt her damn knees go weak. 

This wasn’t some fucking book that he’d written. She didn’t even know what he wanted out of whatever this nebulous, uncertain thing between them _ was _. She certainly wasn’t one of his romance heroines crafted with lithe grace and doe eyes. 

But it didn’t stop her from wanting, and it was more than the desire to undo those buttons and toss that blighted shirt out a window. More than the way his darkened eyes made her pulse thrum when they laid in bed with nothing but thin fabric between them. 

She wanted his arms around her, solid and sure. She wanted that look in his eyes every time they danced on the edge, like he was half in awe of her very existence, like he was trying to memorize her for later in case it never came. 

“What are you two looking at?” Hawke asked, tumbling down the stairs in her hurry to poke her nose between Maria and Cassanda. “Is it a love note?” 

If it was, and if it came from Varric, what would she do? 

“Better.” Maria said instead, trying to shake off that thought. “I think your cousin wants to say hello.” 

“That address is for a bar off the highway. But the listing says it has been closed indefinitely.” Cassandra turned her phone to show Maria the screen.

“Well, that looks like Chantal’s kind of place. I say we go, I _ love _ dive bars.” Hawke, at least, sounded enthusiastic. 

“Alright. Round our people up and I’ll tell Charter.” Maria ordered, flicking her eyes over the two women to Varric. Cassandra shoved her phone in her pocket and turned on her heel, making sure to glare at the other dwarf while she soldiered past. Varric ignored her with a wry grin for Maria alone. 

“Should I round myself up then, Princess?” He asked. Maria wondered if she was imagining the question and invitation underneath it. 

She hoped she wasn’t.

Maria pulled the note away from Hawke, slipping it into her coat pocket, eyes on Varric only. She dropped her voice to a sultry, theatrical whisper. “I don’t know,” she began, smirking. “Should you?” 

Before he could answer, she turned on her heel and sauntered away, injecting a bit of extra swagger in her hips. She heard Hawke whistle, then burst into laughter. 

She never could resist that third box, after all. It was what made it fun, and it had been _ so _ long since she could have some fun. 


	44. The Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria meets _The_ Warden for a drink.   
Varric ruminates on the blight.

There were numerous things that Maria Cadash needed to think about. She had to figure out what to do with the guilty council languishing in the empty school building, since they were apparently her problem, how to track down and stop an army of Red Templars, the massive guide to Orlesian etiquette Josephine emailed her, Corypheus, and five hundred sundry things. All of which she _could_ be considering in the backseat of the jeep while they drove to this shady dive bar to catch themselves a warden. 

Instead, she was rather focused on the unceasing stream of messages from Varric. Every notification that popped up brought a bright pang of something that felt like joy to her heart. 

> **Varric:** Congratulations, Princess. You’re the only woman who could willingly get me back in a vehicle with these two.   
**Maria: ** You’re missing Harding already?   
**Varric:** I’m not hard up for Harding. There’s another dwarf I’d rather spend my time with. One who thinks I’m rather impressive.   
**Maria: ** I guess that does rule out Harding, doesn’t it?   
**Varric:** Does it rule any particularly stunning redheads in?   
**Maria:** Stunning? You always know how to make me smile.   
**Varric:** Lucky for me, of all your beautiful curves, your smile is my favorite one. 

Stone take her, she felt the color staining her face in spite of herself. She rubbed at the sudden blooming warmth and tore her eyes away quickly to look out the window at the empty fields passing by, trying to wipe the idiotic smile on her face. 

How _ dare _ he pivot from casual flirtation into the single _ sweetest _ sentence she may have ever heard? How in the world was she supposed to keep herself functional when he was sending her messages like that? 

Corpses. She needed to think about corpses, horrors, and nightmares. She _ didn’t _ need to think of Varric opening the car door with a mocking bow for Hawke, shooting Maria a roguish wink as he slammed it shut. If not for Dorian’s damn nannying, she’d have jumped ship and slipped into the other jeep beside him.

“Do you know much of the Champion of Kirkwall?” Cassandra asked out of the blue, like she knew where the Inquisitor’s thoughts had drifted. 

Maria felt caught out. She tried not to look guilty. “Hawke? Why would I?” 

“Your...flirtation. With Varric-” Cassandra began. 

“Oh! Yes!” Dorian very nearly spun in his seat. “Let’s talk about that. This _ flirtation _ with Varric does seem _ quite _ interesting.” 

Bull snorted in clear derision. “It’d be a hell of a lot more interesting if they stopped wringing their hands over it.” 

“I don’t know what any of you are talking about.” Maria answered, smoothly brushing her hair behind her ear and slumping into her seat. Her phone buzzed in her hand and she couldn’t help looking at the screen. 

> **Varric:** Too much? Should I cut the flattery? 

“You _ kissed _ him. At Haven.” Cassandra’s disapproval came through loud and clear even with her neck coloring and eyes pointedly not meeting hers. “And you’re saying there’s no flirtation?” 

Dorian and Bull both laughed, but Maria stood her damn ground. “Cassandra, I thought I was going to die_. _ I clearly had to kiss _someone_, and the only people close enough were you, Bull, and Varric. He was the easiest one to reach.” 

Bull and Dorian laughed even louder, but Cassandra made a pointed noise of disgust and rolled her eyes to the sky above. Maria smirked and looked down at her phone, typing a response as fast as she could. 

> **Maria:** I’ll tell you when you can stop, Tethras. Carry on. 

“What did you want to know about Hawke?” Maria asked curiously. “I thought you read the book?” The one she, herself, never got a chance to finish. She should ask Varric for another copy, although honestly when would she have time to read it? 

“I...I simply had additional questions. About the things she had done. It seems...remarkable. And she is not nearly as tall as I thought she would be.” 

Maria blinked once. Twice. “Is she short? For a human?” 

“Slightly.” Dorian’s eyes glimmered with amusement. “Have you not noticed? Do we all look the same to you?” 

“Height wise, yeah. A bit.” Conceptually, she knew humans came in a variety of sizes, but she’d never met one that wasn’t taller than her. “You’re all up there with your limbs, reaching shelves easily. It’s _disgusting_.” 

Dorian grinned, all devilishly handsome slyness. “We’ve hit a sore spot.” 

“Yeah. The crick in her neck.” Bull chuckled. “From constantly craning up to see everyone.” 

Maria expected Dorian to laugh. She _ didn’t _ anticipate that Cassandra would, even as she flung her palm to her mouth to hide it. Maria adopted an expression of weary martyrdom. “Laughing at short jokes directed towards your own Herald, Cassandra?” 

“You do not get to choose to be the Herald just because it suits you in order to win an argument.” Cassandra declared primly. Maria’s phone buzzed in her hand again and Cassandra scoffed. “Who are you texting?” 

“Cullen.” Maria answered immediately. 

“You are lying.” Cassandra lifted an incredulous eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Cullen has been texting _ me _ complaining that you do not answer him in a timely fashion.” 

“You know what you all are?” Maria leaned back in the seat, kicking Bull’s pointedly as she caught sight of his satisfied grin. “Snitches.” 

The message on her phone screen was too tempting to resist, she looked down and read it anyway.

> **Varric: **Your wish is my command.

Just those five words sent the most delicious shiver straight through to her bones and ignited warmth from her toes to her fingers and all the _ best _ places in between. A part of her panicked, tried to thrust forward the uncertainty of her life, their situation, _ his… _

_Redcliffe_, her mind supplied. A demon. Talons piercing through the rough stubble she’d traced with her fingers as they _ finally _ fell into orbit last night. She conjured more pictures unwillingly, Fynn bleeding out in her arms. Haven burning, buried. Her fault, all her fault, she was _ poison_, and he was… 

Her fingers tightened on her phone and her gut lurched. She found herself pulling her eyes to watch the nondescript brown countryside fly by. The phone buzzed again, but she didn’t look. She couldn’t when her mind buzzed this loudly. 

“You could try talking to her. Hawke.” Maria suggested, hoping the shift in her demeanor went unnoticed. “Maybe she’ll sign the manuscript you stole from Varric.” 

“I heard that manuscript as a stab wound.” Dorian remarked airily, but she could feel his too keen eyes on her, taking in her sudden descent into the maudlin.

“Yes.” Cassandra sniffed. “But it could also have Hawke’s signature on it.” 

While Cassandra spoke, Maria’s eyes lighted on the squat building in the distance. Long and low, it was just the type of place she’d seen in movies, looking as if it had always been there. It should have had motorcycles and trucks parked in front of it, a half dozen at a time. She bet it smelled like a mix of old leather, tobacco, and motor oil. 

Dad would have liked it, but that wasn’t a thought she could hold in her head either and stay sane.

“Bull, that’s the place.” Maria murmured. The Qunari nodded, slowing to swing into the gravel parking lot. It crunched under the tires. There was no other vehicle there, no sign of anyone except them. The second jeep slung itself into the lot behind them. When the engines cut, there was nothing but silence. 

It looked empty, but that didn’t mean anything. 

Maria opened her car door and straightened, looking around the unending flatness. She half expected _ anything _ from more zombies to red templars to spring from the barren ground beneath them, cracking through the gravel to grab her by the boots. 

_ Silent didn’t mean safe. _

She tapped back her suspicion to turn her attention to her team. If she was being honest with herself, to one of them in particular. She knew when she looked over her shoulder she’d see those whiskey eyes watching her. 

She wasn’t disappointed. Varric’s easy, cocky grin was like taking a shot of top shelf liquor, it burned _ delightfully _the whole way down into her belly. “My kind of place, Princess.” 

She smirked back, tucking her hair behind her ear, the delicate silver hoops cold against her fingers. “And you told me I never take you anywhere nice.” 

“This is the kind of place that serves shots for a copper, isn’t it?” Dorian asked, disapproval evident by the wrinkle at the top of his noble nose. 

“That’s how every good story starts, Sparkler.” Varric winked at Maria. “Copper shots, a shady bar, and bad decisions.” 

“How have you not all died?” Dorian asked incredulously. Hawke’s tinkling laugh was the only answer. The witch in the leather jacket swaggered towards the bar’s entrance, hands shoved deep inside the pockets. Maria could tell her one fist was wrapped around that lighter, but Hawke withdrew the other one and raised it like she was about to knock on a door. 

Perhaps, in a way, she did. 

The air rippled where Hawke’s fist met something, making the space surrounding the abandoned bar ripple like water disturbed by a stone. Hawke rolled her eyes and shouted, too loudly, into the void. “AMELL!” 

Maria flinched, looking around warily again. For a tense moment, there was no response. Then, in the silence, a bell chiming. One installed to alert a bartender that somebody was entering or leaving. Maria’s eyes flew to the door creaking open and the tall, lanky, _ male _ figure uncurling himself from the gloomy interior. 

An _ extremely _ familiar figure.

“Jerry?” Maria questioned as the trucker who warned them about Crestwood’s secrets paused in the threshold, lips curling in amusement. He huffed a quietly pleased laugh, not at her question, but at Hawke’s irritated folding of her arms over her chest.

“You’re looking rather tall.” Hawke grumbled. “And _ annoying_. You knew I was looking for you. Didn’t think of dropping the charade for a second?”

The man stepped out of the interior and into the sunlight, seeming to shrink and melt as he did. His form shimmered like heat off the pavement, collapsing into… into a small, wiry woman with pixie-like, pointed features that reminded her of Hawke. The two women also shared the same dark hair, although Hawke’s was cut jagged around her shoulders, and this woman’s tresses fell in a spill of inky blackness down her back. 

That’s where the similarities ended. Hawke dressed like a punk rocker, from the combat boots on her feet to the ripped jeans and faded, too-tight t-shirt. The woman approaching, with her big doe eyes and cardigan thrown over baggy cargo pants, looked like she should be teaching elementary school art classes. 

“I know what you did to track me down. I felt it.” Pink lips tugged down at the corners. “You always liked to take risks.” 

“_You _weren’t answering your phone.” Hawke snapped, clearly unhappy about the ‘disappointed parent’ expression on the other woman’s face. “What in the void have you been hiding-” 

The woman tore her attention from Hawke, dark eyes landing right on Maria. That vanished the disapproval from her lips, made her duck her head and tuck her hair shyly behind her ear. She left Hawke mid-sentence, the other witch sputtering in annoyance. 

“Inquisitor.” The woman who had been Jerry held out her hand. “I’m Chantal Amell.” 

The Hero of Ferelden herself, but somehow that seemed as insane and outlandish as some tale Varric would spin. Maria thought she’d be meeting a grizzled war veteran, not… not this slip of a girl who looked _ young_, younger even than Hawke. 

“Warden.” Maria greeted, holding out her own hand with practiced professionalism borrowed wholesale from Cassandra and Cullen. Chantal tipped her head thoughtfully as their hands clasped and shook, clearly curious about the burned anchor in Maria’s palm, but she was politer than Hawke and didn’t twist her wrist to examine it. “You said something about a drink?” 

* * *

The inside of the bar was just like Varric pictured it. Sticky, pitted wooden plank flooring that had been installed sometime in the last age vanished under vinyl tables and booths that reeked of sweaty ass and cheap beer. A dented, scarred slab of wood on skinny metal legs served as the bar itself, surrounded by creaking, rickety bar stools. Chantal grabbed the six back she abandoned on the surface and turned, presenting it to Maria with that sweet smile of hers. “Is this fine? I didn’t know what you liked and options were a bit limited.” 

“I’m really not here for a drink.” Maria was on edge, he could see it the second she got out of the car. She held her tension in her shoulders, hunching them forwards and up, like she was waiting for an attack from some corner. Whatever she’d been mulling over in the car undid all the searing warmth of the way they woke up tangled loosely in each other.

Varric found he didn’t care for that at all. He preferred her wicked teasing and smirks, her shoulders relaxed and her eyes clear. If Dorian, Cassandra, and Bull couldn’t keep her out of her own damn head, _ clearly _ vehicle rearrangements needed to be made. 

And if that happened to suit his own preferences… well. He never claimed to be a selfless man. His flirting, and chest hair, was more potent in person. He could get Hawke to distract Blackwall, tuck the harried Inquisitor under his arm, and spin her stories until she choked on her laughter. 

_ Andraste_. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d heard her laugh, _ really _ laugh. There were those choked chuckles at Dorian and Hawke, her exhausted, rueful huff late at night, and her delighted little sound of amusement when she woke up in his arms. The day they found Skyhold, he thought mournfully, was when he’d last heard her let loose. Her skin pink from the cold and delight, holding a crimson apple in her hands, still awash in wonder without the burden they’d thrown at her. 

She needed that drink she wouldn’t take, needed a game of cards and the chance to fucking relax for a minute before she collapsed into herself under the pressure. 

Chantal tossed one of the bottles to Hawke without asking if she wanted one. “Anyone else? Varric?” 

Hawke caught the bottle and popped the tap off it in one smooth, magic assisted motion. Varric waved his hand dismissively. “Thanks, but that shit is too nice to waste on me.”

Chantal’s smile softened into something sad. “I forgot. Pitchers of whatever the cheapest thing on tap is. And then you complain about it all night.” 

Her words conjured the memory without his permission. Chantal’s skinny knees pulled up to her chest, tucked into the corner of _ his _ booth at the Hanged Man, watching Anders with worried amusement as he told the story of one of their misadventures and Hawke cackled. 

“Where’s Zev?” Hawke asked, gesturing broadly to the bar as they all began to settle into long abandoned booths and bar stools. One of the of them creaked alarmingly beneath Bull, which made Dorian wisely reconsider the stool right next to the Qunari. Maria didn’t sit, even as Chantal hopped up onto her own bar stool. Instead, the Inquisitor leaned against the table in the booth he chose instead, Hawke taking the other side of the bench. 

“He should be back soon.” Chantal looked back out the window, as if gauging the time passed. “He’s running an errand.” 

“An errand? You out of milk, lass?” Blackwall huffed. Chantal’s dark eyes swung to the other Warden and she frowned in arch disapproval. 

“Warden Blackwall.” She said slowly. “It’s been awhile.” 

“That it has.” Blackwall murmured, dropping his eyes to the vinyl table to avoid the small woman’s gaze. The author in Varric awoke, curiosity piqued. 

“Dangerous for you to fall in with the Inquisition.” Chantal observed, refusing to look away. 

“Being a Warden is never a safe option. I think you said that.” Blackwall’s gruff words were loaded with defensiveness. Chantal sighed into the awkward space, leaving no doubt that _ something _ was going on between the two Wardens. There was a story there, and Varric never could leave a good story alone.

Maria slipped into the silence before anyone could start digging, angling herself subtly between Chantal and Blackwall. “Hawke said you were researching Corypheus? And the red lyrium?” 

“Among other things.” Chantal admitted, crossing her legs primly and resting her clasped hands on her knee. She looked over Maria to Hawke, brow furrowing. “Is that why you’re looking for me? Andraste, the news mentioned Corypheus, but I thought they were mistaken. _ You _ said you killed him.” 

Hawke’s shoulders tensed and she dropped her chin to glare at her beer. “I really, really meant to.” 

“What do you know about him?” Maria asked, insistent, standing taut as a bowstring. Chantal shook her head and shrugged slender shoulders.

“Unfortunately, not much. I… I never got the full Warden orientation, but I’m not even sure _ that _ would have helped.” She frowned. “Information about Corypheus seems to be tightly controlled by Weishaupt. I’m not popular there.” 

“I hate to break it to you, Warden.” Bull leaned back in his protesting stool, putting both elbows on the bar behind him. “The people we ran into looking for you didn’t look like they wanted an autograph.” 

Chantal inclined her head in soft agreement, but her eyes were a hundred miles away. “It could be related…” 

Everyone waited, but Chantal only looked at the drop ceiling like she was making mad attempts to connect dots in her mind. Hawke sighed, defeated, shooting Varric a look. “Why do I feel like I’m about to learn things?” 

Chantal _ did _have that look of a professor embarking on a lecture. Maria interrupted her silent reverie impatiently. “What could be related?” 

Chantal’s attention drifted back to their Inquisitor. With a resolute frown, Chantal wiped her hands on her thighs. “I’m dying.” 

Those two words rolled to a loaded stop inside the bar. Chantal _ dying_? That seemed a bigger line of bullshit than even _ he _ would spin. The legendary Hero of Ferelden was _ invincible_. Legends sprung up around her name like groupies around a boy band. 

“But you look well.” Cassandra sputtered, straightening and narrowing her eyes at Chantal. 

In response, the Warden brought her fingers up to her temple, but it was Maria that Chantal was looking at. “What do you know about Wardens?”

“They stop the blight. Supposedly. They take anyone who wants to join.” Maria answered with a tense shrug of her own. “Nobody particularly likes them or wants them around unless they’ve got people dropping. And nobody knows why the Wardens won’t just teach the rest of the world their secrets.” 

That bitter twist on Chantal Amell’s lips didn’t sit well on her features, made her look like she’d swallowed a lemon. “Wardens exist for one reason and one reason only.”

Chantal twisted to the counter and grabbed a beer from the six pack, popping the lid the same way Hawke had, but taking a significant swig before she continued. “Wardens exist, Inquisitor, because nobody wants to think about what waits in the dark.” 

“Ah. The great Warden secret.” Hawke sighed melodramatically. “Duty and honor. Secrecy. Blood oaths. Blah, blah, blah.” 

“In war, victory.” Chantal intoned softly. “In peace, vigilance, and in death… sacrifice.” 

Varric shivered at the heaviness in her tone, the lightning sparking behind the witch’s eyes. There was power swirling in this room, raw, crackling force. Chantal’s sweet smile only meant it was more dangerous, not less. 

“Unfortunately for my brothers and sisters in arms, I’m not ready to die. One more question, Inquisitor. What do you know about the blight?” 

There were a hundred different stories for the blight. Perhaps the most famous was the human’s own. They said the blight came from the hubris of Tevinter magisters in the great ages of dragons and steel swords. Evil, malevolent witches who broke open the veil to sit where the Maker parked his great, omniscient ass. For their folly, the Maker cast them down and cursed the land with a plague that would kill all those who did not have his favor.

Instead of that tale, the elves spoke of their great hunting goddess, Andruil. She grew so tired of hunting beasts, shems, and sea monsters she dove into the very abyss looking for greater prey. But even goddesses could not escape the void unscathed, and when she returned she came back dripping darkness and poison into the wells of her followers. 

However, it was his mother’s stories that always brought a chill to his blood, spoken between her midmorning cocktails, her raspy voice like nails scratching against stone. She spoke of death and darkness clawing their way from the bowels of Thedas. _ His _ family fleeing like rats while others dug their stubborn heels in and tried to save their shrinking domains. Eventually, of course, all but the most foolish stormed up to the surface to take their chances.

So much for famous dwarven pride. 

“About as much as everyone else.” Maria answered simply. “It shows up, without warning, and if you catch it on Monday you’re dead by Friday.”

“I don’t know how the blight started, really. Nobody does. We have myths. Legends.” Chantal wound a long strand of dark hair around her fingers. “It might satisfy the world. To think this is… just a sickness. A plague. But it’s more.” 

“Corypheus claims he _ is _ one of the Magisters.” Varric pointed out, sharing an uneasy look with Hawke. “The ones who went knocking on the Golden City’s doors without a party invitation.” 

“Well, I doubt we can take the word of a raving madman.” Dorian interjected, spearing Maria with his dark gaze. “I can hardly defend my homeland, but I’d hate to assign us full blame for the blight on the word of a demon.” 

“I don’t think he’s a demon.” Chantal wasn’t looking at Maria, but at Hawke. “You said he wasn’t like any demon you’d ever seen, after all.” 

“Well, yes.” Hawke tapped her fingers on the table impatiently. “He’s ugly as one, for sure. He gave off that musty old evil smell, too, but he didn’t seem particularly demon-y.” 

“What else could he be?” Maria asked incredulously, crossing her arms over her chest. “He seemed pretty demon-like to me.” 

“Darkspawn.” The unfamiliar word tripped off Chantal’s tongue and made them all look at her askance. “I think he’s a darkspawn. An old one. Maybe one of the first ones.” 

“I’m sorry, a what?” Cassandra asked, stiffening. “I have never heard-”

“You wouldn’t have.” Chantal declared certainly, slipping off her bar stool like she couldn’t bear to sit still any longer. “Darkspawn are the monsters that _bring_ the blight.” 

Everyone looked at the Hero of Ferelden like she’d lost her mind, everyone except Blackwall, who had dropped his head to stare at his own hands. Chantal continued to muse out loud. “The blight is a sickness, but it’s brought to the surface by… these monsters. They look like us. Talk like us. They even sound like us. There’s just something the smallest bit off about them, though. Their eyes are cloudy or their skin’s a bit grey. Wardens can spot and kill them easily, but if nobody does… they spread the sickness. What you saw here in Crestwood? In the hospital? All it takes is one darkspawn to do it.” 

“You’re claiming _ monsters _ spread the blight? And nobody knows anything of them?” Cassandra's sneering distrust was evident. 

“I _ know _ monsters spread the blight.” Chantal answered calmly. Varric didn’t want to believe her, but it was damn hard to spot anything but the truth settling on her pointed features. 

“You said… it’s brought to the surface?” Maria looked a bit green around the edges. “By people that look like… like us?”

_ Like me. _ She didn’t say it, but Varric heard it. So did Chantal, he could tell by the sympathetic tip of her lips. 

“Like humans, elves, qunari, and dwarves. But… in my experience, dwarves seem to be most common. Wardens suspect that darkspawn were once people that caught the blight, but instead of dying, they turned.”

The great dwarven race, the ones who spent most of history with their heads under the sand, an army of monsters ripe for the plucking because they wouldn’t flee. Chantal continued in spite of Maria’s growing horror. “Darkspawn fill the old Dwarven thaigs. I’ve seen them.” 

Maria had gone mute in shock, but all Varric could think of was that if the Dwarven Financier’s Union knew about that, they’d be sending the monsters a bill for rent. Varric could hear the hemming and hawing already. 

“I’m immune to the blight, all Wardens are, and I can sense the darkspawn. But… it comes at a cost. We undergo a ritual, take part of the blight into ourselves, and it catches up. When it does, we hear… a song. We call it the Calling. When it becomes unbearable, we follow it down into the Deep Roads and we wait to die, hoping to take as many monsters with us as we can. Most Wardens are lucky to get twenty years after their ritual.” 

“Shit, Chantal.” Hawke’s face went slack with grief. “You’re not-” 

“Not just me.” Chantal’s eyes suddenly burned. “All of us. Every. Single. One. At the same time.” 

That information made Maria whip to Blackwall. “You too?” She asked quietly, rushing to get the words out. “Ancestors, is that why you joined up with the Inquisition, cause you were dying?” 

Chantal raised an eyebrow and swung those serious eyes back to Blackwall like she, too, was waiting for an explanation. The bear of the man simply shrugged. “I do not fear the Calling.” 

Chantal’s lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line, but she dismissed the man to turn back to Maria. “The Warden Commander of Orlais, Clarel, summoned the Ferelden Wardens to her side. I sent them to Weishaupt instead because the things she spoke about… blood magic. A way to end the blights forever. Fear makes people desperate, I know that, but when I protested she sent an _ annoying _ amount of my fellow Wardens to murder me.” 

“You seem to have done pretty well.” Maria’s dry tone made him huff, sharing an amused glance with Hawke. “They had no idea you were here. Nobody had _ any _idea where you were.”

“Do you think Corypheus has something to do with this Calling? Perhaps it is not real, but a spell? A hex?” Dorian asked, leaning forward in great interest. “Your connection to the blight is being manipulated?” 

“I have a hard time believing in coincidences. Corypheus. The red lyrium. The Calling.” Chantal looked out the dirty, cracked windows again. “Clarel was heading to the Western Approach. There are old Warden bunkers there and some ancient ruins from before the second blight. She said something about a ritual tower, I _ think _ I know where she’s going.” 

“Well, fuck.” Varric couldn’t help himself, staring mournfully at the back of Maria’s fiery hair. “Nothing good ever happens at ancient ritual towers, Princess.” 

Before he could really build up steam to launch into a good, solid round of complaints (the Western Approach? For Andraste’s sake, that was a damn desert), Chantal broke into a beaming, out-of-place smile. Her slender fingers dropped to her sweater and tugged it up, revealing a darting flash of ink. 

“Is your tattoo _ moving_?” Maria asked, bewildered. Varric watched the tiny bird on the Warden’s skin fly over the inside of her pale arm, summoning more ink as it flew, inscribing words in neat, precise cursive although he couldn’t make them out from where he sat. 

“Yes.” Chantal didn’t bother tugging her sleeve down, pirouetting on one foot to fly towards the door. “Zevran’s here.” 

Really, they were lucky to get that much of an explanation. Maria watched her go, confusion twisting her lips into a kissable little pout. “Who the _ fuck _ is Zevran?” 

“Oh you’re going to _ love _him.” Hawke’s smirk grew twice as wide, even with the shadow of doubt and fear clinging to the edges of it. “But not nearly as much as he’s going to love you.” 

Dorian widened his eyes to affect innocence that suited him about as well as one of Blackwall’s flannels would have. “Maybe he’s also good with email. That does seem to be one of your requirements.” 

Cassandra made a noise of disgust, but Maria simply rolled her eyes towards the water stained ceiling and followed Chantal back to the front door, vanishing back into the sunlight, leaving the question of Varric Tethras unaddressed.

Again. 

Varric tried not to let that sting. 

* * *

The elf who slunk out of the pickup truck, his blonde hair pulled in a stylish bun at the nape of his neck, pointed ears dangling with earrings, and fine black ink lining his _ exceptional _ cheekbones rivaled Dorian for prettiness. Maria had to swallow back her awe and appreciation while she watched the Hero of Ferelden throw herself into his waiting arms. The elf laughed, capturing her in a positively scorching embrace that lasted far too long. 

“There’s a small chance clothing could start flying.” Hawke whispered from up above her. “You should see some of Zev’s tattoos, though. They’re _ gorgeous._”

That was an intriguing idea, nearly as intriguing as Varric’s rather put-out grumbling from behind her, but one she couldn’t quite consider. The couple broke apart and Zevran dropped into a perfect bow. “Ah! Bella signora. You are a vision, Inquisitor. The camera does you an injustice.” 

Maria raised an eyebrow cooly and looked at Chantal, but if the other woman cared about the blatant flirting, she showed no sign. The warden twined her arm with the elf and beamed into his face as he dropped into a courtly half-bow.

“Let me guess. You wrote the note in the hospital?” Maria asked. 

“Of course! I am glad you found my gifts, alas, I have one more. I even wrapped it!” Zevran tossed a cheerful wink and gestured to the back of the pickup truck.

Curiosity got the better of her. Maria sidled closer, although she couldn’t see within the truck itself. Obligingly, Zevran slipped Chantal’s grip to lower the gate. 

The instant it dropped, Maria stared at the splotchy, pale face of Mayor Dedrick next to a massive, drooling hound with a long tongue lolling out his mouth. The human made some sort of noise, but it was muffled by the gag tied tight around his mouth. Sleek yellow rope tied his hands and feet as well, the knots at both ornately fashioned into big bows. 

“Zevran.” Hawke purred softly. “You _ shouldn’t _ have. And Trout! Come here, baby boy.”

The dog woofed softly and stood, tromping dangerously close to the mayor’s head before leaping heavily from the truck, stump of a tail shaking his whole rear as he barreled towards Hawke, drool flying. Some of it landed on Dorian, judging by his disgusted retching noise. 

“Just what I always wanted.” Maria muttered, ignoring the chaos and crossing her arms over her chest, fighting the rising nausea. “Another mass murderer. I’m collecting a fuckin’ set of ‘em, aren’t I?” 

“Princess.” Varric pressed one reassuring hand on the small of her back, large, broad, and perfectly grounding. “Let me tell you now, there are better things to collect. Coins. Proving cards. Hell, I’d prefer _ stamps._”

The Mayor made another noise and turned his gaze to her. Maria couldn’t be sure, but she thought whatever the garbled words were was a plea for mercy. The kind he hadn’t shown the people he left to die in the dark. 

She allowed her own lips curl in a menacing grin. “Mayor Dedrick, fancy meeting you here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I said, a long time ago, I wasn't going to touch darkspawn in this AU. As you all know, this is a story about liars, for liars, by a liar ;-) Enjoy!


	45. The Return of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria and Varric return to Skyhold and begin to confront the painful pasts they left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you all so much for being patient with me. I'm hoping to resume regular updates now, but I may have to eat my own words as life settles into a new normal.
> 
> I love you all, and you're all the best.

_ “Tell me what you want, Princess.” _

_ Varric’s words seared the skin against her shoulder as his weight shifted, pressing her further into the mattress beneath her. He punctuated his demand with another kiss on the tender skin of her neck, one that sent ripples the whole way to her belly. She huffed, breathless and petulant, rolling her hips against his. “You know what I want.” _

_ Varric’s lips traced the freckles dotting her shoulders. He chuckled against her overheated flesh, his hands dropping to dig into the softness of her thighs and squeeze just on the right side of too hard. She made a soft noise of encouragement and lifted her hips again. _

_ “I want to hear you.” Varric whispered, trailing his broken nose up her neck. “I want you to tell me, Princess, I want to know…” _

_ His teeth nipped lightly at the lobe of her ear and she actually whimpered, pressing her thighs together to get some sort of friction. The laugh in her ear turned dark and vaguely sinister. “I wanna know if you’re scared, Princess.” _

_ Gooseflesh erupted all over her skin and she twisted her neck away, craning to look at Varric’s face, her hand reaching up to touch his face. She moved too slow, bewildered by the change in demeanor. _

_ Quick as lightning, his fingers curled around her wrist and twisted violently. She shrieked as the bone snapped, thrashing beneath his weight. She tried to bring her knee up to his groin, but his strength turned against her rendered her helpless in their current position. _

_ “Stop.” She commanded above her ragged breathing, the sound of something with too many legs skittering in the walls. “Stop!” _

_ “You’re not in charge here.” Varric’s grin split his face, but something was climbing from his throat, bulging sickeningly beneath skin gone green and rancid, a spindly leg emerging from between his lips. _

_ She started screaming and she couldn’t stop. _

* * *

She awoke frozen in place, her heart racing, not thrashing and fighting but trapped in her own body as her eyes flew open to take in the shadowy forest passing outside. A snowy branch whacked softly off the roof of the jeep and she flinched, spurred into action. 

As she moved, Varric’s arm fell from where it had rested against her abdomen, he shifted but didn’t seem to wake, and she took the opportunity to slip away from him, trying to tamp down the nausea threatening to overtake her. 

It was a dream. A nightmare. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t…

Varric wouldn’t hurt her. Varric’s smooth, reverent caresses were nothing like the monster in her dream, and even though Varric’s touch wasn’t gentle _ all _ the time, there was no desperate brutality. He treated her like _ she _ was strong enough not to break, and she _ was_. She had to be. 

She wouldn’t let her fear rob her of this little sliver of happiness. She took another deep breath in the dark and reached out, her fingertips just brushing his. Her heart leapt but she forced herself to let her hand stay right where it was.

_ Varric_. It was just Varric. 

“You awake, lass?” Blackwall asked in his low, gravely voice. “We’re almost to Skyhold. Can’t believe you managed to fall asleep with all this jostling. I’ll need to make sure the road didn’t knock us right out of alignment when we get back.”

Maria peered through the darkness toward the front windshield, the headlights slicing through the dirt road. It wasn’t perfect, but better than it had been by far. Cullen deserved a round of applause, surely, for getting this somewhat operational in the time they’d been gone. 

Three days. Three endless days cleaning up Crestwood. Three days working dawn to dusk, gathering information, handing out supplies, and waiting for intelligence from the west. 

Three nights dragging her exhausted bones to Varric’s cot only to fall asleep with his voice in her ear and his arms wrapped around her. The most peaceful evenings she’d had in years were followed by the most delicious mornings she could ask for. Weariness dropping away in the dawn to let their hands explore hard muscle and soft curves while their lips teased and taunted, tension simmering in the air between them like an unfulfilled promise just begging for completion.

If it wasn’t for the nightmares and the damn rickety cot, everything may have been perfect.

She’d been so damn happy to think about what they could get up to in a real bed. Clearly, that triggered the nightmares and that was normal. That was _ completely normal _ after the shit she’d been through. 

That was the only part of her life that probably was _ fucking _ normal anymore.

“You need a break?” Maria asked, removing her fingers from Varric’s and turning her full attention to the road ahead of them. “We can stop and wake Hawke up.” 

“I’m under _ strict _ orders that Hawke is not to drive.” Blackwall huffed, piercing her with a withering glance in the rearview order. “And you wake that blighted woman up, I’m resigning, I swear on Andraste herself.” 

Blackwall’s warm, dry voice chased the cobwebs of the dream still clinging to her. The smile she gave him wasn’t quite genuine, but it was enough to fool him at least. “Here I thought I was in charge.” 

“Course you are.” Blackwall grumbled. “And a fine job you’re doing, but Maker take me if I disobey a direct order from Cassandra Pentaghast. You ever look at a woman and just _ know _ she’d enjoy wipin’ the floor with your ass?” 

Maria laughed under her breath, a sound which made Hawke herself stir just slightly in the passenger seat, slipping further down into a tight little ball, her breath fogging the window. Maria held her breath until she settled and Blackwall sighed.

“She’s… interesting. Forgot they make heroes so blighted young these days.” 

“Blackwall, she’s nearly as old as I am.” 

“And you’re damn near young enough to be my daughter. I did the math.” 

“Only if you were a particularly naughty teenager roaming the Free Marches about thirty years ago with a taste for Dwarven women.” Maria winked and Blackwall cursed under his breath, color rising up the back of his neck. 

“Now _ you’ve _ spent too much time with her.” He shot her another disapproving glance. “Maker’s balls. Aren’t you supposed to be the Herald of Andraste?” 

“So they keep telling me.” Maria chirped with vague annoyance, resting her forehead against the back of Blackwall’s seat. For a moment she could hear nothing but the clunk of tires on the road, the gentle thud of low hanging branches. 

Blackwall spoke first, a low rumble. “If it isn’t too forward, my lady...” 

“Oh, _ now _ I’m my lady?” Maria asked. “What happened to ‘lass’? I like it better.” 

“I heard the noises you were making.” He continued softly. “Even over Varric’s snoring.” 

That shut Maria up rather effectively. Heart in her throat, she looked up. 

“It wasn’t-” She began. 

“There’s no shame in it.” He insisted softly, his fingers tightening on the wheel until she saw them go white. “You see monsters like you have, you see dead children murdered, it sticks with you. But you need to talk to someone lass, I’m here.” 

Because they were just nightmares, and nightmares were normal. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Thanks Blackwall.” 

“Anything you need.” His lips quirked softly and he met her eyes in the mirror again, warmth bleeding through even in the darkness. “You are, after all, in charge.” 

She was. She had to remember that. 

* * *

When Varric awoke, blinking away the remnants of the fade, his hand reached out on instinct searching for the warm body he’d already gotten alarmingly used to in the brief amount of time he’d been lucky enough to bask in her glow. His fingers brushed denim in the darkness and he mumbled a weak greeting. “Princess?” 

“You’re awake.” Maria whispered, looking up from the dim glow of her tablet. “Keep it down. You wake up Hawke and Blackwall is resigning, which apparently means you have to drive because I don’t have my license and neither does she.” 

“Never stopped Hawke before, honestly.” Varric stretched, taking the chance to smooth his palm up over Maria’s knee to rest casually just above it on her thigh. She didn’t protest or stiffen, so he left it. A potent, heady reminder of their shared secret. 

Maria extinguished the white glow of the tablet, plunging them into inky darkness. In that same moment, she pressed her hand over his and squeezed gently. “We’re almost back to Skyhold.” 

“We probably _ should _ wake Hawke up then, Princess. It takes her awhile to get moving.” 

“She can sleep in the blighted car then.” Blackwall grumbled. “If you wake her up a second before we have to, I _ swear _ on my Maker, dwarf…” 

That sounded like a challenge, and one he was _ quite _ willing to take advantage of. He was about to ‘accidentally’ kick the back of Hawke’s seat when Maria’s thumb ran up his wrist, distracting him from that line of mischief. 

“What were you working on, beautiful?” He asked instead, ignoring the exasperated grunt from the Warden up front. 

“Researching the history of military tribunals to persecute people who committ genocide.” Maria answered nonchalantly. “You know. The usual.” 

Her breezy tone didn’t quite conceal the deep, lingering bruises and wounds Crestwood left. They couldn’t pretend it hadn't happened, that it hadn’t changed everything, because it had. He didn’t need to see Maria’s face to know her smile was brittle. 

He squeezed her knee softly. “Just some light reading, then?” 

“It was either that or _ actually _ dig into Orlesian etiquette. I feel pretty confident I made the right call.” 

He laughed, fighting the urge to lean over in the darkness like he had every other night since, to capture her lips until she went boneless against him and they fell to bed, cradled in each other as the night surrounded them. He secreted those precious moments inside him, his greedy mind running over them again and again like he could relive them by committing them to memory. 

But Crestwood was in the rearview mirror, and he didn’t know what happened next. 

Instead of allowing him to wallow in the darkness, she shifted to press her thigh solidly against his, dipping under his arm. Damn him to the void and back if she didn’t fit like she belonged there. 

He only got a moment to bask in the sheer improbable _ rightness _ of the situation. Far too soon, Blackwall was clearing his throat. “Skyhold up ahead, lass.” 

Maria straightened, leaning forward like a dog scenting a meal. “Damn good to be back, honestly.” 

Varric only caught the faintest hint of the smile she sent over her shoulder, but it was enough to chip away at his piecemeal heart anyway. Perhaps it was his vivid imagination, but he could have swore even in the shadows that she looked like the sun finally returned to the sky to shine. He could only hope she didn’t change her mind about shining on him once she climbed to the pinnacle of her castle and the hundreds of enraptured faithful resumed their orbit around her. 

The smooth switch from dirt road to stone bridge made Maria’s smile brighten even further and sent a jolt straight through him when she turned the full force of that grin on him, illuminated by the bright lights now on the castle walls. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly, a gesture that said a thousand words more eloquently than any story he could spin. 

Blackwall barely stopped the car inside the imposing gate before Maria sprung lightly out the door. He paused before following her, just long enough to rudely poke Hawke in the ribs. “Wake up, Waffles.” 

“Fuck ‘ff.” Hawke muttered, burying her head further into her arms. Varric, smirked and leaned past the seat Blackwall was vacating to lean heavily on the jeep horn. The blare of it sent Hawke into a sputtering fit. Varric smelt seared leather as she began to roundly curse him up and down, even while the sound of the horn faded to a dull echo. 

“I’m gonna burn off your chest hair. I swear on Andraste’s lily white ass, dwarf.” Hawke continued, throwing a blind punch that glanced off his shoulder lightly. “Get the _ fuck _ away from me.” 

“You know, I left this part out of the Tale of the Champion. I figured those junk food binges of yours humanized you enough. Anything else was just annoying.” 

Sparks flew from her fingers and Varric hadn’t survived Hawke this long to be ignorant of the warning signs. He wisely retreated, satisfied she’d follow in a moment. The second he exited the backseat, he swung his eyes around the illuminated courtyard, searching for a flash of red hair. 

He found her just steps away, Cullen at her elbow, watching as Cass began to yank the despondent forms of the mayor and council out of the vehicle she’d been driving. They were all cuffed and all wore similar looks of defeat. 

“I am aware you were joking when you told me to find a dungeon for them.” Cullen glared sternly at the group of prisoners. “However, I located a dungeon shortly thereafter. It is more than adequate to keep them safely contained and comfortable.” 

“Sounds great. I knew we could count on you, Cullen.” Maria mumbled, arms crossing over her torso while she watched the spectacularly shitty little parade. Before she could say much more, she yawned into her elbow. Varric swallowed his own sympathetic impulse to do the same. 

Cullen, either oblivious or imperious to the exhaustion weighing heavy on Maria’s shoulders, continued his report. Varric didn’t bother listening to the rest of it, he slipped behind their Inquisitor and gently brushed his thumb over her waist, leaning close to the delicate shell of her ear to whisper. “Ditch Curly and let’s go take a nap. You earned it.” 

She tipped her head to the side towards Cullen, giving the illusion her whole attention was focused on him while she watched the other vehicles unload, but the corner of her smile tipped up closest to him, encouraging Varric to continue. “My place or yours, Princess?” 

A loaded question if there ever was one. Either location would have a bed, a real damn bed, for his protesting joints. One big enough to sleep properly and complete any other number of interesting activities best performed in the nude. And her answer would certainly give him a better idea of where, exactly, they stood.

“Mine.” 

Maria’s answer breathed out softly for his ears only made his stomach flip torturously. He thought he’d misheard for a heartbeat, but her smile rose even higher and took on a sly, predatory edge that made him feel less like the one propositioning and more like prey successfully hunted. 

...which, if true, sounded pretty damn good to him, honestly. 

“Excuse me, Inquisitor?” Cullen asked, brisk and polite, pulling Maria’s eyes from the scene to stare up at him with faux innocence that ignited, rather than smothered, the flames of desire in his veins. 

“Fine. That’s all fine, Cullen. Is there anything we need to do tonight? Or can we wait till first thing in the morning?” 

_ Thought we needed to talk first, Tethras. _ A cynical voice reminded him. _ Figure out where we stood. Not make stupid mistakes. _

Then Maria raised her arms high up above her, stretching her torso pointedly, exaggerating every curve of her body in one slow, sinuous motion guaranteed to wipe that nagging voice, any worries, and a significant amount of common sense right out of his head. She twisted away from Cullen, as if to ease stiff and aching muscles in her back, but she took the opportunity to wink at Varric. 

She was putting on a show, and he was far too weak to even pretend it didn’t affect him. She turned back towards Cullen, who frowned severely, aware that he was missing some subtext, but unsure exactly what it was. 

“Of course. You must be exhausted.” He answered instead, wisely enough. “There should be no harm in waiting-”

Cullen cut off immediately, his eyes fastening somewhere over Maria’s head. Maria’s brow furrowed and she turned to follow Cullen’s gaze. Doing so meant she missed the smallest whisper falling from Cullen’s lips. “_Maker’s breath._” 

Varric _ had _ to see what was causing that reaction. He didn’t have to search very long as he caught sight of Chantal brisky striding forward, a shy smile tugging at the corners of her lips, apprehension dancing in her eyes. “Cullen.” She greeted quietly. “It’s been a long time.” 

Maria moved wisely to the side, leaving Cullen gaping like a fish out of water. He coughed into his own fist, fumbling for the words. “Chantal. I mean, Enchanter… no. I’m sorry. Warden Amell.” 

Chantal’s smile stayed resolutely, kindly, in place. “How are you?”

“I’m well.” Cullen declared quickly. “Well, as well as any of us can be. How are you? How are the Wardens?” 

That made Chantal’s smile drop, her eyes switching to gaze down at Maria, who lifted one eyebrow as she stared up at Cullen. Varric’s inner author began taking copious notes. _ This _ was certainly interesting, he smelled a forbidden romance lingering in the tense air between witch and former templar. 

“I… the Wardens are not… they may be corrupted. Practicing blood magic.” Chantal tugged anxiously on the sleeve of her flannel. “I thought they would have told you?” 

“I did.” Maria did a serviceable job of preventing her smile, but Varric saw the amusement sparkling in her eyes. “And he yells at _ me _ for not answering my emails.” 

“I… of course. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Apologies. I have...business to attend.” He waved vaguely with the folder in his hand. “Warden. Inquisitor.” 

With that, Cullen turned quickly on his heel and just about fled into Skyhold’s embrace. Chantal watched him go with a frown, continuing to tug at a loose string on her shirt. Maria gazed up at the Warden pointedly, waiting for an answer. When one didn’t come, she broke into the silence. “So. Is whatever just happened going to be a problem?” 

“No.” Chantal answered quickly. “No. It was a long time ago. He looks well, better than he did the last time.” 

Instead of elaborating, Chantal sighed, expression heavy with sympathy. Varric heard a bright, accented voice shouting for that slobbering hound of hers and it made Chantal smile softly. “I hope he’s happy here.” 

“I’m sure we’ll find plenty of time to rope him into shenanigans between near death encounters and fighting a war.” Varric grumbled. “Really get him to loosen up.” 

“Some of my favorite memories happened during the worst time of my life.” Chantal replied quietly, looking up above them into the stars. The light softened her sharp features, made her look even younger than she already did. Varric wondered, idly, about a child thrust into a civil war. A young templar smitten with a young witch, a tragic separation, one blossoming and leading an avenging army, the other… 

“This is an old, powerful place. I’ve only felt such ancient magic a few times.” Chantal advised, looking around the stone walls. “You’ll have to use it wisely, Inquisitor, or it will use you.”

With those chilling parting words, Chantal drifted away from them, whistling for the dog that bounded to her side in a mountain of fur and drool.

“What the fuck do you think _ that _ means?” Maria asked, wrinkling her nose. 

“Witches.” Varric shrugged. “They’re all crazy. Too much time dipping their noses into the fade.” 

But Cullen’s bumbling retreat left a gap the two dwarves could easily retreat through. Skyhold’s courtyard was coming alive with activity, and Varric suspected that if he didn’t move Maria out of the storm, she’d become the center of it. The woman needed a break from being Inquisitor, he was just being thoughtful. There was no self-interest behind the urgent desire to get her up to her room and out of those tight jeans. 

If only he could fool himself half as well as he could lie to everyone else. In truth, he couldn’t bear to share her, not when he’d gotten so used to their stolen kisses and holding her in his arms as they fell asleep. The slumbering jealous monster inside him demanded her attention, and by Andraste’s panties, he was going to get it. He didn’t even care, really, if those pants stayed on.

He smoothly slipped his arm around her back and turned them both to the castle stairs, walking a bit quicker than strictly necessary. Blessedly, Maria read his mind and matched his eager stride with nothing more than that perfect little laugh under her breath. The one that made him reconsider pressing her against the unforgiving stone and stealing it straight from her lips. 

“In a hurry, Varric?” She teased, leaning into the crook of his arm. 

“To get away from all our crazy humans after three days enjoying rural Ferelden? Aren’t _ you_?” Varric asked, incredulous, as they started up the stairs. 

Much to his surprise and utter delight, Maria turned a crooked, almost shy smile to him. The lights above illuminated her expression perfectly. She looked relaxed, amusement glittering in her eyes, shoulders low and face completely, utterly vulnerable. A force like a punch in the gut yanked him back to the past, back to Haven, snowflakes suspended in the air around him and gravity pulling them together while the world spun like mad on Maria’s axis. They crested the stairs, his feet moving on their own while his mind froze to a stop, taking in the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips, the drop of her lashes against her cheek as she looked down, the flush of color under her splattered freckles. 

“Don’t let it go to your head, but the best part of rural Ferelden was being stuck there with you.” She admitted softly.

He moved without thinking, his arm tightening around her, pressing them both to the shadows of the walls as the hubbub below continued. Up here, though, it felt like it was just them. His fingers felt unsteady when they brushed the loose crimson waves away from her cheek, but the second he tipped her chin up, the moment he saw the soft curl of her lips in gentle invitation… 

Hawke was right. He was Maria’s man through and through. He would be the rest of his damn life. 

With that thought, he pressed his lips to hers, inhaling her quiet gasp when her lips opened beneath his. The world settled into place as smoothly as a key in a lock and she melted into his embrace, her arms coming up to twist around his neck. He’d tasted her before, but never with this ringing certainty in his ears, never with the universe settling into new order beneath his feet. The feeling rising up in his chest made him ache with remembered pain and tremble with new anticipation. His hands sunk into the softness of her hips, her fingers twisted in his hair, and his mind went completely, blissfully blank except for one name reverberating like that damn stone song his mother always told him he’d hear. 

_ Maria, Maria, Maria… _

“Am I interrupting something?” 

The only thing that could drag him from his reverie was that particularly acidic tone of a dangerous woman displeased. It was still Maria that broke their kiss first, unfocused eyes staring past him as her fingers continued to comb through his hair like they had a mind of her own. The name she sighed out was half-reproving, half-breathless. “Bea?” 

“You haven’t been answering me.” Bea accused, nose in the air and arms crossing over her chest. Varric spared a look over his shoulder to gauge how much trouble he was in. The woman’s curls flew around her face, wild from sleep, and the shirt she wore barely covered the tops of her thighs. As far as Varric could tell, although he’d never risk looking too closely, there wasn’t anything beneath that shirt. The security guards on duty must have felt like they won the lottery. 

“If I took the time to answer every single text you sent, I’d never get anything else done.” Maria’s hands stopped their exploring and finally dropped, only to rest on his shoulders. She returned the affronted glare of her sister with one of her own. “I answered most of them and I’m _ busy _at the moment.” 

“Oh, so now I’m _ bothering _ you?” Bea squawked, voice rising, but the anger in her eyes left an icy trail when she deigned to look at him. It made his skin prickle. The expression she wore made him feel little more than a particularly nasty problem she needed to solve in the most efficient way possible. He’d seen that expression turned on him before, but on another woman’s face. 

That thought and the accompanying image of honey blonde hair immaculately styled knocked the wind right out of him. 

He loosened his grip on Maria’s inviting flesh, watching those plump lips part to argue, her matching eyes sparking with much more lively and hot anger of her own. He left one hand on her waist, raising the other to brush one thumb over her parted pink lips and up the line of her jaw. She shivered and he leaned in to press his lips far too chastely on the path he traced. He pulled back just far enough to whisper the words against her warm skin. “Take care of your sister, I’ll catch up later, Princess.” 

Maria pulled back to search his face, kiss-swollen lips turning down at the corners. While she tried to find whatever she was looking for, he watched her own emotions vanish into a chasm. Everything that had been there gone like a dream. 

“Alright.” She sounded heartbreakingly calm, completely neutral. “Later, Varric.” 

He stepped away, breaking the tenuous connection between them and Maria slipped away into the night, the only hint of anything wrong the way she impatiently grabbed her sister’s arm and tugged her towards the great hall. 

Varric watched them vanish, the ghost of honeysuckle in the air the only hint remaining that he’d had her in his arms at all. 

* * *

So much for losing herself in the warmth of Varric’s embrace. Maria fought the urge to scream while she watched him withdraw back beneath that polished veneer, smooth as silk, and _ nothing _ like that searing kiss he’d just placed on her lips. Ancestors, the moment before they’d collidied, the look in his eyes… 

There’d been something there. Something too intense to name, something she’d glimpsed in scattered pieces since that first night in Crestwood. It seemed set to burst from a spark into a flame _ tonight_, but of course Bea had to _ ruin _ it. 

_Just like she ruined…_

That thought wasn’t fair, or right, or even remotely helpful so Maria shoved it back to the darkest recesses of her mind where it wouldn’t hurt her _ or _ Bea. Instead, she sharpened her voice into a blade made of frustration and growled under her breath while she practically marched Bea up into the great hall. “What is your issue?” 

“What’s going on with Tethras?” Bea demanded quietly. 

“I was hoping for the kind of things that had nothing to do with clothing.” Maria snapped. “You typically approve of those types of activities.” 

“He’s after something.” Bea sniffed, disapproval radiating from every line of her barely-clothed form. 

“What could he _ possibly _ be…” 

“He’s a _ deshyr_, Ria. That’s trouble just like-” 

Maria slammed through the Great Hall, barely noting the skinny shadow that instantly cleaved to her side as she continued to pull Bea along. “Don’t you _ dare_.” 

“He wasn’t like them.” Cole broke in softly. “Simple. Smiling. Slipping through silent streets, searching for meaning.” 

“Cole!” Maria’s exclamation came off like a plea, but Bea sounded properly stern. Maria reached for the door to her rooms, wrenching it open, barely noting the gleaming black stone inlaid that certainly hadn’t been there when she left. 

_ Tourmaline. _ To ward off evil. Fynn wore a piece around his neck when she met him. 

“Ria, I can’t see you tied up in this mess again.” Bea reached back to slam the door shut behind the three of them. 

“You told me to fuck him.” Maria finally released her hold on her sister, storming towards the stairs. “I’m _ about _ to and you come charging in like a bronto with a toothache.” 

“Except you’re not gonna just ride him like a pole, you’re gonna get _ feelings_, and you gettin’ feelings for a rich man is what got us into that fucking mess we _ just _ got away from.” 

Bea’s words followed her up the staircase like arrows, near doubling her over when she emerged in her tower room. She blinked back the stunned tears that came unbidden to her eyes and twisted just in time to see Bea hurry up behind her, face flushed with temper. Whatever her sister saw in her eyes stopped her so quickly that Cole nearly ran right over her in his hurry to chase them. 

“No.” Her voice sounded lifeless, robotic to her own ears. “_I _ didn’t cause that, Bea.” 

The unsaid ‘_you did’ _ reverberated in the room like a gong struck. Bea quickly pulled her matching gaze away to stare at the warm room littered with all the things that reminded Maria of better times. Safer times. 

Bea kept her eyes carefully pointed away, but the emotion choking her voice cracked through. “Ria I love you. I can’t let you get hurt like that ever again.”

The emphasis on the word _ can’t _ made knots tie themselves in her belly. She took a deep breath and turned back to her room, tempted to retreat into her bed or drown the start of her headache in whatever Skyhold had decided to do with her bathtub while she was gone. 

But there was something new in her room, something that didn’t belong and yet blended seamlessly in front of the windows overlooking her balcony. Maria’s eyes fastened on the familiar shape, but her mind couldn’t quite comprehend what she was actually looking at until she heard Bea’s sudden intake of breath behind her. 

“That’s not an altar is it?” Bea asked, moving quickly to the smooth stone monument holding all the shining tablets with dwarven runes inscribed on them, a holder for incense and a little jar holding sticks, a tiny dish for offerings to appease the glorious ancestors, and tiny tumbled jewels to ease all your ills: agate for strength, sapphire for peace, rose quartz for love. Those were just the ones she could identify, but she was more concerned with Bea’s fluttering hands moving over the stone tablets. Within them, the inscriptions flickered with lyrium etched into them as if responding to Bea’s nearness.

_ Isana_, Nanna called it, the life blood of the dwarves. 

“They’re all here.” Bea sounded almost reverent. “Zarra of Clan Cadash, third of her name, matriarch of Clan Cadash. Melina of Clan Cadash, born of Clan Heidrun, first of her name, wife of…”

Bea’s voice stuttered as she moved to the third tablet, her eyes blazing with bright fury and fierce pain. “Roland of Clan Cadash. Second of his name, and the shittiest excuse for a father in all of Thedas.” 

A part of her immediately jumped to run to her father’s defense, but the rest of her was frozen in horror, staring at the fourth tablet. The words that slipped from numb lips had nothing to do with Roland, his illness, his inglorious death, or anything else. “Who’s the fourth one?”

Bea turned her attention the fourth, Maria watched her struggle with the less familiar runes, watched the sudden understanding dawn across her face and seal her lips resolutely shut. 

“Bea?” Maria’s voice shook with desperation.

“I’ll get rid of it.” Bea promised. “I’ll-”

“Fynn of Clan Dunhark, first of his name, husband of Maria of Clan Cadash. Fallen in battle.” Cole whispered from behind her. 

The heavy silence hung over the three of them and Maria closed her eyes tight against the sympathetic tilt of Bea’s face while she struggled for words. It was Cole who finally spoke. “The past is more than the chains that bound you. The past is the roots that ground you. It’s what you need, even when it hurts.” 

“Cole, help me get rid of it.” Bea ordered, the soft clink of stone the only sound in answer. 

“No.” Maria’s whole body felt exhausted, her heart full to burst. The shit storm of Crestwood. _ Varric _ . Bea and Cole and her _ family _ and _ Fynn. _

Ancestors, how could she have forgotten Fynn, even for a moment? Varric had made it vanish, but it couldn’t. She couldn’t let him go like that, couldn’t break the promise she’d made to be his. _ Forever _. 

Fynn made her strong, once. Maybe he’d make her strong again. 

Bea’s hands slipped into her own, squeezing softly. “What do you need?” 

Maria didn’t open her eyes, but she croaked the word out. “Stay.” 

“I’ll never leave you.” Bea promised, kissing her cheek. “Never.” 


	46. The Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria and Varric both try and determine a mission to follow.

The clattering sound of plates served as Maria’s wake up call. Somebody sat something heavy on the table beside the bed. Before she even opened her eyes, the overwhelming scent of bacon filled her nostrils and her mouth watered in response. 

Varric, her exhausted mind supplied, somebody said they’d gotten decent food into Crestwood, and of course he’d make sure they got a taste of the good shit. Ancestors, she even smelled real coffee. 

“Right. You’ve got about ten minutes before Josephine starts calling you.” Bea’s voice jolted her sharply from the pleasant dream. “Apparently you have a full schedule, but I swear on the stone if you don’t eat _ real _ food today, I’m throwing you off the balcony.” 

_ Not Varric. _ She’d spent last night without him, and that thought left her grasping at straws as she opened her eyes, blinking twice while she took in the neat breakfast for one laid out on the tray. It left her feeling bereft so she quickly looked away, pinning Bea as she threw open the curtains and let the morning sunlight fall into her cozy room. 

“Did you eat?” Maria asked, burrowing further into the blankets, content to linger even while Bea moved at a frantic pace. 

“About an hour ago.” Bea spun on her heel and threw a smirk over her shoulder. Her sister’s face already sported immaculate makeup, her hair falling in graceful curls over her shoulder. Bea always could get by with a scary lack of sleep. “Josie and I have tea together with Leliana in the mornings.” 

That sounded worrisome, but before she could summon the appropriate questions, Bea’s phone chimed in her hand. Her sister looked down and affected a sigh heavy with martyrdom. “Damn Cole and this cat are gonna be the death of me. You stay here and eat, I’m gonna send him your way and _ you _ can explain the thing probably has rabies.” 

“Wait, Bea-” Her protest went unheeded. Bea_ never _ stood still or sat down unless some illicit substance or well-endowed female figure tempted her to, although usually that restlessness didn’t bother Maria. Sometimes, though, she felt like a box for Bea to check off in her morning preparations. Now that Maria had been fed, Bea could move on with whatever else she needed to accomplish. Watching her sister vanish down the stairs, Maria smothered the indignant shout she wanted to level in the direction of her bouncing curls. 

...even if it’s echoes would have been better than the silence left behind. 

Maria stayed stubbornly under the blankets for only a moment before the quiet drove her to sit up, rubbing her face hard before she reached thoughtlessly for a piece of toast, smothered with sweet smelling jam, biting into it. 

Upon further consideration, she was pleased nobody heard the moan that erupted from her throat the second the sweet taste of summer strawberries hit her tongue because _ that _ would have been embarrassing. Her stomach rebelled, demanding she polish off the piece of toast in her hand immediately, and she didn’t have the willpower to resist. She hadn’t even realized how damn hungry she really was. 

Thank the stone for Bea, honestly. Maria owed her one. She sucked the residual sticky sweetness off her fingers while she eyed the rest of the tray, trying to decide whether to dig into the fluffy eggs or tempting bacon, before she reached for the steaming mug of coffee. 

The phone beside the tray vibrating sharply tore her from the inner turmoil and made her stomach roll with pleasant nerves. She didn’t dare name the person she thought was calling, not even to herself, but it didn’t erase the disappointment when she picked up the slim device. 

So much for having ten minutes before Josephine called. Sighing, she accepted the call and tucked it between her shoulder and ear. “Hello?” 

“Good morning, Inquisitor!” Josephine chirped. “I cannot state enough how glad I am to have you back. We have so many things to discuss before you go west. First, the Merchant’s Association of Antiva has approached us to negotiate a contract. They wish to procure goods such as-” 

Negotiating contracts. Even the words made her nose wrinkle and her appetite near vanish in a fit of pique. For fucks sake, if she needed to deal with this, she was going to need more coffee.

Maria grabbed the little container of sweetened cream, intent on making the bitter brew palatable, phone still tucked to her ear while Josephine prattled. Before she poured, her eyes flitted across the room and landed on the hewn stone altar, the polished sleek slabs with her dead family’s names inscribed in perfect runes. Her stomach flopped and she froze in the act before setting the little pitcher down with a clink.

“Josie, I’ll be down in a half hour. Let me brush my damn teeth and have a cup of coffee.” Maria stared at the altar, her unwanted surprise the night before still there to greet her in the morning. She didn’t hear Josie’s response before the line went dead, lost in her thoughts. 

Skyhold didn’t always give them what they _ wanted _ , but it almost always gave her what she _ needed _. Swallowing her nerves, Maria picked up the tray with her breakfast and wandered over to the Dwarven altar, settling cross legged in front of it, balancing the tray on her lap. She reached for the lighter tucked helpfully on top first, flicking it with remembered ease to light the incense in front of the carved dwarven figure representing all the virtuous ancestors she never knew and couldn’t remember, quickly blowing the flame out. Then she forced herself to look at the tablets closely for the first time. 

Nanna had more tablets on hers, Maria only had four. Zarra Cadash’s, of course, stood front and center. To the left of hers, two matching ones, although one was placed face down. The one still upright said Melina Cadash, the mother Maria barely remembered. Sighing, and mentally chiding Bea, Maria righted the tablet belonging to Roland Cadash, never present on Zarra Cadash’s own altar because Roland would never be considered a revered ancestor. Technically, he wasn’t an ancestor at all.

Her father was supposed to be forgotten, struck from their history for his cowardice like he’d never existed. In the end, though, the Ostwick assembly could remove his name from their memories, but they couldn’t take him from hers. Nor could Bea erase him from their shared past no matter how much she wished to. 

The smoke from the incense curled in the still air and Maria turned to the last tablet, staring at it in mute sorrow. Fynn Dunhark’s name in their forgotten mother tongue stared back at her in silent recrimination. 

Maria wondered if his family kept a tablet for him on their altar. Probably not. 

It shocked her that she remembered the words to the prayer, but maybe it was like riding a bike. Once you’d learned, it was part of you always. “Atrast vala, my revered ancestors, fierce warriors, and skilled leaders. Stand with me, the head of house Cadash, child of the stone. Be with me in this moment and guide me.” 

The movement came like a dance she’d done a thousand times. She brought the flickering flame to the other stick of incense, watching as it caught and blowing out the flame with a puff of air. She placed that stick in the holder nearest Zarra’s tablet. “I am the root of your root, soil of your soil, bone of your bone, blood of your blood. May I honor your glorious legacy.” 

And then, the last bit. She picked up the unsweetened coffee and tipped it into the metal bowl surrounded by precious stones. The liquid splashed against the container, leaving most of it in her own mug. “Keep this gift as my word that I have not forgotten my commitment to our clan and…” The words stuck in her throat. She cleared it, the sweet scent of incense filling her lungs. “And I vow to never forget.” 

With that, she raised her mug just as she’d watched Zarra do hundreds of times in a silent toast, before bringing it to her own lips. The scalding, bitter liquid filled her mouth and she choked it down, making a face of disgust reflected back in the shiny tablets. 

“Sorry.” Maria murmured to the tablets, grabbing the pitcher of sweet cream. “I still can’t do this black coffee shit.” 

She could almost hear her father laughing when she upended the whole tiny pitcher into the mug, see her grandmother rolling her eyes, feel Fynn’s amused, indulgent gaze on the back of her neck. She brought the mug of sweetened liquid to her lips, closing her eyes. 

Maria’s instinct was to run from the weight settling in her stomach, the ball of grief in her throat that caused her to nearly choke on the coffee she sipped. The loss felt unbearable, like someone ripping the nerves from her skin piece by piece. It felt as sharp as if she’d lost them all _ yesterday _. 

She’d been running from this pain for years. Just like everything else she tried, and ultimately failed, to escape. Some things, perhaps, just needed to be fought through. Some things _ needed _ to hurt to prove they really happened at all. This altar meant she’d been somebody _ before _ her spectacular fall from grace into the Carta, even if the rest of the world thought her story began there. These tablets belied the truth, she hadn’t always been a fighter, she **became** one.

...but almost everyone who knew that was gone.

The least she could do was sit in silence with their ghosts and stop fleeing the pain they left in their wake. 

* * *

_ Varric - _

_ I know things haven’t been easy, but I’ve been worried sick about you. You’re lucky Redcliffe didn’t explode into a mess of trouble, although I ought to kick your ass for going back to Haven. Then diving into zombies in Crestwood? You’ve got to be joking. Is this a mid-life crisis? Most people just get expensive cars _ ** _and _ ** _ younger women, you know. Much safer and socially acceptable. _

_ I’ve got a lead on the red lyrium, but I’m not ready to share yet. _ ** _She’s_ ** _ got people sniffing around too. Pulling her Carta contacts. I’ll try and stay out of her way, for your sake. Try and make sure she doesn’t stumble into mine? _

_ -B _

Varric didn’t know why he kept reading the email over and over again. At first the most alarming part had been the thought of Bianca, at home in her workshops with her gadgets and computers, digging into red lyrium. He sent a terse note back telling her to try and make sure she didn’t get herself killed. 

It wasn’t until an hour later, when he found himself double checking Maria’s age in her criminal records, that he realized Bianca yet again burrowed under his skin the way only she could. Andraste’s sanctified ass, it certainly didn’t seem like he had a decade on their Inquisitor, but the date of birth staring up at him said otherwise. When he’d been a young man of 20, learning the best way to talk a woman’s panties off at union meetings, his Maria had been in pigtails riding a bike. 

Fuck. _ Fuck _. 

He could easily picture the sly curl of Bianca’s smile when she’d made a point he couldn’t argue with even though she was a hundred miles away. Reading between her words, he saw the image she painted with stunning clarity. Varric closed his eyes and he was back in his father’s home, listening to the polite giggle of a younger woman stuck entertaining the old bastard. 

_ Thought you said you’d _ ** _never_ ** _ end up like him and Bartrand, Varric. I’m disappointed. _

The ghost of Bianca’s voice haunted him, turned his thoughts dark and sour. Even Hawke noticed, although she seemed just as subdued. Maybe it was Chantal’s icy, disapproving silence that made Hawke fold like a scolded child.

Maybe, but probably not. Hawke never collapsed under _ anyone’s _ scorn, so his friend’s silence meant something far more ominous. Varric cast a sharp look up at her as they waited, taking in the shadows under her eyes. 

Somebody, apparently, barely slept. _ Somebody _ was hiding something. Varric, a gambling man even after all this time, would bet she’d been staring at those damn cards again. And, as usual, they weren’t in their favor. If he could just catch a damn break, he’d…

Before he could ruminate on all the things he’d do if his luck held for once, the door at the end of the hallway opened on three humans and the beautiful little redhead who outshone them all. Cullen shut the door behind them, Leliana inclined her head down towards Maria, and Josephine flipped quickly through a folder, clearly searching for something. 

Maria herself had a tablet in one hand, a folder in the other, and was flicking those stunning eyes between both of them. She looked up, her gut reaction to scan every new room she entered, and those eyes pinned him. 

Pigtails, he reminded himself helplessly, but the thought wavered when the corner of Maria’s lips lifted in an unsure smile before she greeted him. “Varric.” 

He didn’t know if she meant to, but it was almost the exact same way she breathed his name between long, lingering kisses pressed to her alluring lips. He responded to it even as unease dripped into his stomach, unable to resist her. 

Just like a dirty old man.

“Your Inquisitorialness.” Varric twisted her title playfully, but he needed to say it, needed to remind himself that _ she _ could certainly do better. “The Warden is waiting inside your office. Guess she’s bored of our company already.” 

“Inquisitorialness?” Maria repeated, tongue in cheek, handing her folder to Leliana. “I was just getting used to Princess. Had business cards made and everything.” 

Even his nickname sat wrong, everything thrown into question, despite the wicked, teasing edge of her smile barely hidden in polite company. He feared he didn’t hide under his mask quick enough, her keen eyes catching the hint of trouble before he could shove it away. 

Luckily, Josephine hurried to open the next door, leaving them suspended for only a moment in uncertainty. “After you, Maria.” 

“Maria.” She repeated dubiously. Varric fought the urge to shake that perceptiveness right out of her, even though he _ knew _ it was nothing more than a survival skill, one sharply honed to see through greedy, self-serving bastards like himself. 

“Sorry.” Varric adopted a self-mocking grin and dropped into another elaborate bow. “After you, Princess.” 

_ His _ princess, one who looked increasingly displeased with the greetings she received from her loyal subject. For a terrifying second, he thought she’d throw the tablet at Cullen and demand they go on without her while _ she _ poked and prodded at his tender, bruised ego. 

“Inquisitor?” Leliana inquired, a voice laced with silk, but underneath it just the whisper edge of warning. Varric felt it like a blade at his throat. If Maria felt it too, she made no sign except a quick blink before she turned away, dismissing him with that thoughtful frown still twisting her lips. 

“Let’s get this meeting over with then.” Maria declared, letting Leliana sweep her onwards. Varric fell into step with Hawke on their heels, ignoring the curious gaze directed downwards. He could already hear her fondly declaring him an idiot. _ Again _. 

As if on cue, the second they walked into the next room, Hawke leaned in. Her breath fanned hot against his ear. “Problems, Varric?” 

“I think we _ all _ have more problems than we’re prepared to deal with.” Cullen shut the door behind them with a firm click and everyone moved to circle the broad table, for all purposes looking like it had been cut in one piece from the largest tree Varric could imagine. “The Western Approach is, and has been, remote and inaccessible for most of history. Even now, it’s not terrain I would choose to fight in.” 

“What would you choose to fight in?” Hawke asked, a teasing grin stretching her lips. “I, personally, always wanted to duel to the death in an aquarium.” 

Hawke’s non-sequitur drew everyone’s attention, but it also tore a stunned giggle from the Warden perched on the far corner of the table. The sound brought a motley red flush near immediately to Cullen’s face. 

“I… ah… yes. As I was saying…” Cullen began, dropping his eyes pointedly back to his papers. “The intelligence Warden Amell has given us is invaluable, but even so, it will take time to scout the uninhabited areas, set up supply routes, and build an encampment that will serve our troops. It is time I fear we may not have.” 

“I agree.” Chantal’s soft expression turned stormy while Leliana brought up an image on a monitor, a satellite photo of a ruin on the edge of a yawning cavern. “I believe the Wardens are planning a test run of this blood magic ritual here, the ideal time to complete it en masse would be in approximately seven days. If they wished to test first, I suspect they would do so in two days.” 

“That is not enough notice to send soldiers and we have few templars who can counteract this sort of ritual to begin with.” Cullen sighed. 

“There is you, Commander.” Chantal hesitated a beat, sweeping her eyes to Maria. “I know of few templars more dedicated or of stronger will than-” 

“Commander Rutherford has to stay here for the time being.” Maria decreed, face impassive. “He’s needed at Skyhold.” 

“I hate to suggest sending in the templars, but ‘disrupting blood magic’ is one of the things that they _ actually _do well.” Hawke declared, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Why keep a jackboot around if you’re not gonna-” 

Maria lifted her own piercing gaze before issuing her command again. “Commander Rutherford is staying here.” 

She left little room for argument, but Hawke wasn’t one to back down. Varric, though, had the sudden realization he was missing some sort of important subtext to this conversation. He couldn’t stop Hawke from careening on regardless. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Cullen. Where’s the ‘witches aren’t people’ spiel I know and love? You really going to pass up a chance to knock a couple blood witches into the dust?” 

Cullen didn’t look up, but his grip tightened on his folder. “Even if I were to accompany the Inquisition on this mission, it would be as a soldier, not a templar. I regret to inform you, _ Champion _, that I am no longer taking lyrium.” 

That sentence sucked the air out of the room, left Hawke gaping like a fish out of water, and made Chantal raise her fingers to her lips. “Cullen.” All careful formality vanished from the Warden’s tone. “Cullen, you _ can’t _. You’ll die.” 

“All men die. You know that better than most.” Cullen’s whispered answer reverberated in the silence. “I have made my choice.” 

“And any complaints, concerns, or questions can be directed to me.” Maria leapt to Cullen’s defense without batting an eyelash, turning her glare on both witches. “Clear?” 

When she looked like that, fierce as any practiced general, Varric could almost forget his reservations about taking advantage of her youth. 

Almost. 

Hawke shut her mouth, looking abashed for what may have been the first time in her life, but Chantal’s fierce glare would have ignited a lesser woman. Maria ignored it, frowning at the satellite photos. “Josie. You said Ferelden donated helicopters.” 

“Two, Inquisitor.” Ruffles answered with a polite incline of her head. “I have been told each will fit six and a pilot. Regrettably, I have only been able to recruit one pilot. She is set to arrive today in the same convoy as our new Arcanist.” 

“We’ll leave tomorrow then.” Maria decreed, tapping her fingers on the table while pursing her lips. “How close to this can we get?” 

“Without being detected in advance?” Leliana sighed, looking up as if to run calculations. “Perhaps five miles. And we won’t have the ability to have vehicles waiting. Your team will need to march.” 

“I’m sorry.” Nobody asked his opinion, but damn if he wasn’t about to give it. “We’re marching through a desert? You’re shitting me.” 

“I’m not sure any other option is better.” Cullen glared. “Although perhaps an advance strike team… sending the Inquisitor is dangerous. If anything happens to you, we are without leadership.” 

“I have to go.” Maria flicked her eyes to Cullen. “I take five people. When we’ve got the area cleared, I’ll send the helicopter back for reinforcements. You keep working on the supply chain.” 

“Which five?” Leliana asked, pointedly not looking at the Warden, who immediately stepped forward at the same time Hawke did.

“I’m going.” 

Maria looked at the women who spoke in unison, considering a moment before she nodded. “You two, ask Cassandra and Blackwall as well.” 

Four. Maria paused, steeling herself for something. Then she lifted those pale, endless eyes to his. “You gonna miss the opportunity to complain about sand in your shoes for five miles straight to sit and tinker with your computer?” 

Gauntlet thrown and Varric helpless to resist it, particularly when she acted as if she could set the damn world on fire if she tried hard enough. Hawke didn’t quite suppress her undignified snort of laughter, so Varric shot her an aggrieved look before turning to Maria. 

“Can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing than following a trio of beautiful women through a wasteland infested with Maker knows what.” 

He shouldn’t, but he completed the statement with a wink that made Cullen sigh and Josephine flush. Hawke laughed above his shoulder before slapping him lightly on the back of his head. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of plenty of things during a five mile march. That’s how it _ usually _ happens with you.” 

He barely heard her over the sheer radiance of Maria’s smile curling up at the corner. 

Gauntlet thrown, even against his better judgement. 

* * *

Three hours of mind numbing conversation later, Maria thought she may scream. Leliana and Josephine looked as fresh faced as they had prior to entering Maria’s office, Cullen just as fiercely determined, but Maria needed to move. She almost found an excuse to dash after Varric and the two witches, but stopped herself at the last minute. 

_ Varric _ . Varric who burned hot one moment, cold the next, leaving her at a loss for what to do. Run? Stay? Chase or be chased? Break his nose herself? Drag him up to her room by his collar and _ make _ him tell her what the hell he was thinking? Then put that mouth of his to better uses. 

In her room, with an altar prominently displaying the name of the last man who dared try and love her. Yeah, dragging him up there seemed like a _ great _ idea. 

“Which leaves the matter of the Mayor and Council of Crestwood as the final matter on our agenda.” Leliana began smoothly, dragging Maria from her thoughts. “We have discussed some possible solutions. Since Josephine has obtained jurisdiction from Ferelden…” 

“It would be a diplomatic coup if the Inquisitor herself, as a representative of moral authority led a trial-”

Maria interrupted Josephine. “In what universe am _ I _ a representative of moral authority?” 

Cullen snorted, amused in spite of himself, and she found it so endearing she couldn’t even summon up a playful glare in his direction. Instead, she fastened her bored gaze on Leliana and Josephine, tipping her head to the side. 

“The Inquisition is a center of moral authority. _ You _ represent a tradition of upholding values inherent in Adrastianism. It is the dominant religion in Thedas and it is-” Josephine continued, brisk and sure. 

“But it’s not _ mine _ .” Maria argued. “I don’t even know what the values _ are _.” 

All three advisors looked at her like she had grown a second head before swinging their eyes back to each other in silent communication. The urge to scream and knock everything off the table was near overwhelming. 

It was Cullen who sighed, adopting the same severe expression he wore when instructing the newest recruits, his _ lecture _ face. “The Chantry was founded on six key principles. The first, that the Maker is the only god.” 

There were no gods, only the stone, the one that welcomed them all home. “Great. I’ve failed step one. Next.” 

Josephine’s lips drooped in disapproval, but Leliana giggled. “Perhaps some religious instruction would be invaluable, no?” 

That wouldn’t be happening, but Cullen soldiered on regardless. “The second principle, that magic is meant to serve men, not rule over him, is the most controversial. The third, that all are equal in the eyes of the Maker, the least. The other three, that we uphold honesty, do not steal from our brothers and sisters, and that all can be forgiven if they repent, are rarely spoken about.” 

“Well, I may have failed step one, but I’m not sure the Chantry has done a great job with the rest of them.” The tiny cages of the Gallows, horrified news crews reporting conditions they wouldn’t force _ rats _ into, the elves shoved into dilapidated neighborhoods because of the shape of their ears, and the wars they all fought throughout history showed how little respect the religion really had for life, truth, or personal property. “They’re pretty words, but _ nobody _ is gonna trust us if we keep spouting them. They’ve been burned too often.” 

“We are a religious institution, Inquisitor.” Josephine’s dark eyes bored into hers. “We cannot, in good faith, abandon our foundation.” 

“We are a secular humanitarian organization.” She’d been working on this for days. Since the moment the crowd at Crestwood who murdered their neighbors closed around her with grasping fingers. “We were founded by the late Divine, but our mission is to do _ whatever _ it takes to protect Thedas from Corypheus and mitigate the damage that he’s already done, especially to the most vulnerable people here.” 

They all looked at her, expectant and wary, so Maria took a deep breath and continued. “We can make that stand _ now _ with what we do coming out of Crestwood. We can make ourselves an instrument of justice for people that have been denied it. It… those people, they were victims. They deserve to be remembered.” 

The rest of the plan poured out, too quickly, her nerves fraying. These people were smarter, better educated, more experienced people who _ should _ have been leading the Inquisition, really, instead of a thug with a gun. “We need to devote resources to identifying those poor bastards if we can, in case they have families still looking for them. We need to get investigators, damn good ones. I know it’s gonna be hard, but the better the picture we get, the better we can tell their stories. Then… Ferelden and the International Foundation of Human Rights in Thedas worked together to persecute war criminals during the Orlesian-Ferelden conflict. It was before I was born, before any of us were, but the records are there. I took a look, and they convened judges and prosecutors from all the countries, then had the perps judged by a panel of legal experts. It may not go our way, we may not be able to find enough evidence, but we can’t just _ decide _ we’re the authority.” 

“You’re… you’re advising convening an international war crime tribunal?” Josephine repeated, her stylus trembling in the air over her tablet. “Is that truly necessary?” 

“Do you think we will not have more crimes discovered before this is over, Josephine?” Leliana asked. The redhead closed her eyes and shook her head. “War is a terrible thing, and we are at war.” 

“You’re not wrong, Inquisitor.” Cullen’s voice rang with something that almost sounded like pride. Maria chanced a glance at him and saw his smile curled upwards. “It is, perhaps, the most fair solution. The Chantry has proven oversight is needed or abuses will occur. If we do not change now, when will we?” 

Warmth suffused Maria’s stiff limbs, rendering her able to move easily again under the considering glances of her advisors. “Should we vote?” 

“A vote is not required. I believe we have a consensus.” Josephine paused, waiting for dissent, before noting something in her tablet. “I will draft several versions of a mission statement acknowledging our history and the direction you intend to take us. It will be good to have something to share with our allies.” 

On one hand, that sounded brilliant. On the other hand… she shot a desperate look at the door. If she was stuck in here for _ another _ three hours… Ancestors, she just needed a damn drink. Maybe _ more _ than one. 

“I’m sure you have many things to accomplish today.” Cullen, thank his blessed head, didn’t miss her cloying claustrophobia. “We can sort the details out without your oversight, by your leave.” 

She could have kissed him. Maria darted to the door before either woman could stop her. “Sounds great!” She chimed, wrenching it open. “Don’t start an Exalted March without me!” 

Then she dove into the hallway, _ free_, and made a fateful decision to find Bea and drown her stress the traditional Cadash way:

In the cheapest bottle of booze they could find. 

* * *

“Why are you here?” 

Varric looked up from his laptop, pinned Hawke with a withering glare, and gestured to the tiny room with all his belongings scattered while he attempted to pack for whatever shitstorm they’d find in the Western Approach. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I live here now.” 

Hawke rolled her stunning eyes to the ceiling. “Andraste’s granny panties, Varric, I wouldn’t call hiding in your room behind a computer screen _ living _.” 

“What you call _ living _ usually ends up killing most people.” 

Hawke batted his concern from the air, slipping into the room like he’d invited her to make herself comfy among the chaos. “Varric, you’re _ missing _ it.” 

“Missing what?” He growled. “Besides my sanity.” 

Instead of answering him, which would have been too easy, Hawke collapsed right on top of his neatly folded clothes and sprawled out. Her long, human legs took up entirely too much room in the cramped space. “Did you know this castle has a _ bar _, Varric?” Hawke asked, eyes sparkling. “It’s actually nicer than the Hanged Man. Not that it’s a hard thing to be, but…” 

“What have I done today to deserve this attack on my favorite dive?” Varric affected a wounded expression while he closed out the document on his computer, one titled simply ‘Princess’, with his notes from the Inquisition scattered inside. 

Notes that increasingly read like an erotic novel with his vivid descriptions of Maria Cadash, to be honest.

Hawke ignored him, stretching out slyly. “Did you know Inquisitor Cadash is _ very _ good at darts?” 

That statement wouldn’t shock him. What _ did _ catch him off guard was _ Inquisitor Cadash _ hanging out at the bar just across the courtyard, as far as he knew she’d never been. “Maria took the night off? Good for her.” 

“Almost _ everyone _ took the night off.” Hawke continued, rolling her shoulders. “Even Chantal is down there looking a lot less grumpy. You should have seen her and Zev when Maria and her sister started dancing. Guess they’re still as horny as ever.” 

Varric nearly choked on his tongue. He watched Maria dance with Bea in Haven and knew the smooth roll of her hips to a beat and the hypnotic sway of her body. He also, unfortunately, knew very well what Zevran and Chantal could get up to. Varric immediately suspected he was being goaded by his _ annoying _ best friend.

Her next sentence confirmed it. “Then Bull convinced her to down a glass of Maraas-Lok with him. Brave woman. Remember that time Bela and I tried it?” 

He remembered _ spectacularly _ well. Somehow, Rivaini and Hawke stumbled into _ his _ apartment instead of Bela’s. Varric arrived home to find Hawke splayed out like a meal over his coffee table and Bela having a nice little feast.

“I _ ate _ off that table.” 

“So did we, in a fashion.” Hawke winked. Varric closed his laptop with a deafening click. 

“I better go check it out.” Varric agreed smoothly. “Whatever happens next is sure to be a hell of a story.” 

Hawke’s toothy grin let him know he’d fallen directly into her trap. “I certainly hope so.” 

* * *

Varric’s heart nearly stopped in relief when he found Maria _ leaving _ the tavern on the corner of the courtyard, alone. The noise of the bar spilled out behind her, but fell silent as the door swung shut, leaving only the muffled noise of conversation, the song of mountain wind, and a small noise that _ could _ have been someone humming a tune under their breath. 

Honestly, the smart thing was to shadow her and make sure she didn’t fall down the steps she swaggered towards, but Varric _ never _ did the smart thing when Maria was involved. Instead, he picked up his pace, moving to intersect her path.

The tune vanished, replaced with a sultry laugh and a purr of his name when he stepped into her line of sight. “Varric. Nice night for an evening.” 

Maker help him, she was quoting back a line from Tale of the Champion. Then she burst into a shower of please giggles, ones that made his old, battered heart skip a traitorous beat. 

“Princess.” He levied a playfully stern glare at her. “I know you’re not out here drunk, quoting my own books at me.” 

“Never.” She lied, closing the distance between them in a second, entwining her arm with his. She smelt of burning liquor, hazy smoke, and that damn floral shampoo he swore haunted his sleep. “You gonna walk a girl back to her tower?” 

“First time for everything, I guess.” She pressed against his side, warm and pliant, and his mouth watered immediately. He clung stubbornly to the fraying threads of his reservations. “Nice night, Princess?” 

“Thought you’d show up a bit sooner.” She chastised, leaning so close her nose brushed his stubbled jaw. At the same time, the liquor caught up with her and she wasn’t quite able to correct her balance enough to keep from stumbling. Varric wrapped one sturdy arm around her waist. 

“I’m here when it counts, Princess.” He offered. He hoped she didn’t notice the strain in his smile. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

“Promises, promises.” Maria laughed, but mercifully allowed him to guide her without incident to the stairs. The second they fell silent, she started humming again, but this time she was close enough for Varric to place the old song. 

_ In Orzammar’s fair city, _   
_ where the girls are so pretty, _   
_ I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone. _   
_ As she wheeled her wheelbarrow, _   
_ through streets broad and narrow, _   
_crying “nugs and deep mushrooms, alive, alive, oh.” _

“Andraste, Princess.” He groused, tugging her into the great hall. The security around them ignored the drunk woman clinging to his arm, thank the Maker. “Can you pick something a bit less depressing?” 

“Nanna used to sing it to Bea as a lullaby.” Maria defended the choice of music with a slight slur. 

“That explains a lot about your sister.” Varric muttered under his breath. The answering response, another giggle, was drowned out when Maria started to sing the words softly under her breath. 

“She died of blight fever, and sure no one could save her, and that was the end of sweet Molly Malone…” 

Even wobbling with drink, the beauty of her voice damn near floored him.He almost lost his footing himself, shooting her a look of shocked delight. “Princess, where you been hiding that voice of yours?” 

“At the bottom of a glass of Maraas-Lok.” She grinned. “Where do you hide all _ your _ secrets?” 

He didn’t hide any of them, he displayed them brazenly in plain sight, and lied when people asked questions. The headset in his ear itched, but he didn’t rip it out. Instead, he lowered his voice to a flirtatious whisper. “Underneath the chest hair.” 

“In that case…” 

He knew that tone of voice was trouble, but he couldn’t say he minded the small fingers that inched beneath his shirt, teasing and igniting his nerves in a flash of heat. He swore under his breath, reaching for the door leading to the tower belonging to his princess. He tugged, but it didn’t budge, at the exact same time Maria’s hand dipped lower, tracing the hair on his chest. 

“Princess, you’re killing me.” He rasped, shoving his weight into the stubborn door. “You lock this door?” 

“It only locks from the inside.” Maria responded innocently. 

Which meant her _ damn _ castle decided to lock them out. He growled softly, his arm tightening around Maria’s waist as she staggered again. He hoped the spirit haunting this place heard him when he spoke. “Be my guest. _ You _ keep her from falling down all those stairs.” 

“We can go to your room.” Maria offered, arching her spine to press the tempting curves of her body against the hard planes of his. Her other hand followed the path of the first, tracing a scalding path over his muscles. 

The door opened with a click that almost sounded grudging and Varric shoved her into the dark stairwell. He turned to shut the door behind them, but before he could even accomplish it, she was back in his orbit, her lips pressed to the pulse throbbing in his neck. 

_ Fuck_. Qunari alcohol needed to come with a bigger warning label. 

“Maria…” He half moaned her name, his arms seeking her out, torn between clutching her closer and trying to hold her at a safe distance. It didn’t matter either way. With single-minded determination found only in drunk women with one thing on their mind, Maria slipped through his defenses, wrapping her arms around his neck, and pressing those sinful lips to his. He capitulated, unable to deny himself the bliss of her taste, her soft tongue begging insistently for more. She made a sharp, eager sound and rolled her hips against his. 

_ Damn her_. He quickly pulled away, his body aching in protest. “Maria, stop.” 

“Why?” To her credit, she did stop, but she was still too close, her scent overpowering in the tiny space. “I _ know _ you want me.” 

He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything, that wasn’t a lie. Still, he rasped out the first reason. “Beautiful, you’re ten years younger than me.” 

“Afraid you can’t keep up?” 

The dim light from above illuminated a grin he could safely call predatory. She pressed back against him, hands finding his shoulders. “Or are you afraid I’ll show you a thing or two?”

Maker, he _ desperately _ hoped she would. He hissed as her fingers started plucking at the buttons on his shirt. Carefully, he captured her elbow and pulled her arm away. “We need to get you upstairs Princess.” 

In bed. With _ several _ blankets covering her tempting form and him _ chastely _ retreating back down the steps. 

She didn’t make it easy. Although she sighed and seemed to acquiesce to his demand, the second they started up the staircase her lips found his jaw, teeth nibbling down his neck, her nose tracing his shoulder. Roaming fingers continued to play with his shirt, undoing buttons as quickly as she could find them. He hoped she was having a good time, because he could barely breathe past the screeching need bubbling in his veins. 

“Minx.” He muttered as they crested the stairs. Her shoulders shrugged out of the coat she wore, dumping it on the floor, hands grabbing the hem of her shirt…

He captured her lips to stop that, nipping lightly at her lower lip as a warning. She melted into his embrace and Varric thanked his lucky stars. Kissing was a gray area, but as long as she kept her damn clothes on, they should be fine. 

_ Should _ being the key word. 

He walked her back until her knees hit the bed, then guided her down gently. She reached to drag him down with her, but he simply captured her hands and brushed a soft kiss over both her knuckles. “Not tonight sweetheart.” 

Her eyes flashed dangerously, a burst of seething temper blooming through the desire and longing written on her face. “Cause I’m too young for you?” 

Wearing that blazing defiance, she looked more than his match. He chuckled softly, squeezing her hands before dropping to his knees beside the bed and reaching for her shoes. “Cause you’re too good for me, Maria, and you’re too drunk to know the massive mistake you’re about to make.” 

He tugged off the first boot distracted only momentarily by the soft fingers smoothing loose strands of his hair from his face. “Why are you a mistake?” 

Her voice, soft and insistent, demanded an answer. One that was nearly true, even. “You’re not interested in my tragic backstory, beautiful.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her denim-clad knee before tugging off the second shoe. “You should get some sleep anyway.” 

Maria sighed, drumming her fingers on the crown of his head before he stood, tugging the blankets down and fluffing her pillow. When it appeared satisfactory, he gently pressed her down into the sheets. She curled onto her side, watching him settle the blanket over her with keen, stormy eyes that appeared at once all-knowing and unfocused. 

They called to him even after he tucked her in. Despite himself, he crouched back down, meeting her gaze in the heavy silence. Without another word, Maria’s hand reached for his, their fingers twining together. He looked down at where they joined, mute with wonder at the sight of her small fingers laced with his, her thumb stroking a soft pattern on his skin. 

The question Varric kept dancing around slipped from between his lips before he could bite it back one more time. He tucked a stray wisp of her back behind her ear to feast on the freckles lining her cheeks, the restful bliss she slipped into. He smoothed a small circle over the line of her cheekbone and leaned forward to whisper to her before the fade claimed the Inquisitor for itself. “What do _ you _ want, Princess?” 

Her lashes fluttered open, exposing just the slightest hint of those stunning eyes, but even that captivated him enough to consider spending the night on his knees beside her, just like this. A slow, steady hand captured his against her cheek and held it there while her eyes shut once more.

He thought that would be the only answer he got to his question, which served him right for waiting until _ now _ to ask, but Maria’s lips parted and she breathed one simple sentence. “I want to live.” 

Her statement lacked all artifice, all hint of playful deceit. It felt as precious as diamonds and just as sharp, cutting a path straight though his ribs to his beating heart. He could hardly breathe around the sudden tide choking him.

The raised lines in Maria’s palm suddenly burned the back of his own, but he kept his hand right where it was, willing to bear the burns a hundred times over. He brought his lips to her forehead, pressing tenderly to the cool skin there before drawing back just enough to whisper against it.

“You are alive, Maria.” He closed his eyes too and dropped so he rested his head against hers. “And you’re going to stay that way, baby.” 

He saw her lips curve into a soft, satisfied smile, one that made everything within him tighten, emotion gripping him in a way it hadn’t in such a long damn time. His eyes darted over every inch of her face, taking her in as she whispered her next word. “Stay?” 

He couldn’t. She was warm, soft, so tempting he couldn’t trust himself not to take up the offer she made in the stairwell, couldn’t risk those dexterous fingers dancing over his skin like an invitation. He wanted her too much, the desire bordering on need, and if he curled next to her in bed he couldn’t guarantee he could resist the siren song of her flesh. If they went there, and he couldn’t see how this story didn’t end with them lost in pleasure, tangled with each other, he wanted her clear eyed. Wanted nothing in her blood but the arousal he’d gotten precious tastes of already. 

On the other hand, his heart couldn’t bear to leave her. He smiled, his thumb gently caressing her cheek. “For a little bit, sweetheart.” 

Ignoring the protest of his aching knees, he settled in to kneel by her bedside for the foreseeable future. At least until she drifted away from him, he bargained, but even as her breathing deepened and settled into the rhythm of sleep, he didn’t move. Varric watched instead, noting all the tiny details ravenously as she sat still long enough for him to admire. Her chest rose and fell with steady breath, her lashes flickered across her cheeks as she dreamt. He was so used to her face bearing the blazing fury of a revolutionary that the innocence lining it now took his breath away. At that moment, Varric realized he would follow her _ anywhere_.

He loved her. 

He closed his eyes when the thought thudded deep within his heart, an arrow just like the one engraved on Maria’s wrist. He loved her. He _ loved _ her. He loved her with every cracked, broken piece of his weary heart, and he _ always _ would. He wanted _ more _ than he had any right to ask. He wanted her in his bed, wanted to stand at her side and watch the world tremble before her.

He wanted to be the one that held her when it was all over, the one who gave her a home to go back to. 

Which made everything else, somehow, a whole lot more clear. He opened his eyes to take her in again, lifting the hand he still held to his lips to press another soft kiss to her knuckles. “It’s you, Princess.” He whispered to her sleeping form.

It always would be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING? 
> 
> Also I'm so sorry for the HUGE chapter. I love you and thank you for reading!


	47. The Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria and Varric engage in some comfy domesticity with Cole and a cat. Hawke is all about portents of doom.

Shrill, blaring music pulled her from the fade. Maria moaned, tucking her head into the pillow as the wretched sound was joined by the hollow buzz of something vibrating on wood. She slammed her hand out, ignoring the twitching pain of the sun burned in her palm as she searched for the blighted phone. Upon finding it, she took one look at the caller ID through bleary eyes and groaned before accepting the call. “What?”

“Maraas-Lok?” Leliana’s voice curled with amusement. “Interesting choice. How’s your throat?” 

“Feels like I chugged gasoline.” Maraas-Lok may actually _be_ gasoline, but Bull swore up and down it wasn’t. Maria propped herself up on one elbow and the room spun, so she fell back into bed. She threw her arm over her eyes to block out the too-bright light. 

Leliana laughed, a sound that made the spymaster sound years younger. “Your helicopter is scheduled to leave at ten sharp, Inquisitor. And you promised to meet with our Arcanist before leaving.” 

Maria had, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. “What time is it?” 

“Seven-thirty, and before you complain, let me remind you that the Maraas-Lok was _ your _ choice.” 

Maria was a grown woman who could take her knocks, she supposed. Bits and pieces of the night prior filtered through her mind. Bea’s laughter as Sera told a dirty joke. Bull toasting her rousing success to thrilled cheers, despite her trying to hide in the corner. The sound of a dart hitting a board, bowing to Harding’s grudging acknowledgement of victory, and…

The scent of sandalwood and ink. Rough stubble under her lips and broad hands wrapped around her waist. Her stomach dropped and rolled, propelling her back up to look around her bedroom. She didn’t know if she was pleased or disappointed to find the other half of her bed undisturbed, the room around her empty. 

“I have a question.” Maria asked, turning her attention back to the phone. “Do you have any idea if I _ actually _ ran into Varric last night? Or did I make that up?”

Leliana giggled. “Ran into is _not_ the word I would use. More like ‘threw yourself at’, according to my people.” 

Maraas-fucking-Lok. Maria pinched her nose, hard, while Leliana continued talking. “He escorted you upstairs, but my agent who attempted to follow found themselves locked out. We trusted that the castle does _ seem _ to be under your control and respected it’s wishes as yours...” 

She didn’t know why everyone kept saying that, but it didn’t matter. Maria still wore _ all _ her clothes from the night before, including her bra which pinched unfortunately. Varric, the consummate gentleman, apparently took her up to her room, put her in bed, and _ fled _ as fast as he could before she threw up on him. The feelings that realization left in its wake, a complicated knot of fondness and grief, made her ache all over and left her more exhausted then she had been. “Right. I’ll be down in a bit.” 

“Breakfast is on its way to your room, _ Princess. _” Leliana cooed into the phone and Maria’s annoyance spiked. 

“Fuck off. I’ll go get my own damn breakfast.” 

Leliana’s laughter still rang in the air even after Maria quickly ended the call. She stumbled out of bed and weaved her way to the bathroom, tearing off clothes as she went and discarding them in her wake to be dealt with later. In the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face before trying to make herself _ somewhat _ presentable. 

The woman in the mirror looked spooky pale, freckles stark over her cheeks, shadows under her eyes. It wasn’t the worst she’d looked, not by a long shot, but she couldn’t ignore that she looked like she needed a nap. Who knew finding human religion would be _ more _ exhausting than smuggling lyrium? Maria's reflection smirked and shook her head. 

Maria pulled the bright scarlet hair away from her face, off her shoulders (too long, she thought, she needed it cut), and examined the angles in her face more closely while she made a list of things to do. Throw some clothes in a duffel bag, swing by Cullen’s office, welcome the Arcanist, ask Dorian to keep an eye on Cole, Bea, and Sera, see if Solas had a cliff-notes lecture on blood magic she could squeeze in while taking her _first_ helicopter ride, and...

Blue, a part of her supplied. She should wear blue, it always made her eyes and hair pop. And, maybe, she shouldn’t cut her hair. Varric seemed to like it the length it was, just past her shoulders so he could brush it away when he kissed her. And, speaking of kissing her, _ ancestors _could the man kiss... 

Color flooded her pale skin in the mirror, a wicked light sparking in her eyes, and Maria grinned. Blue. Low-cut. Form-fitting. Surely, she had _ something _ like that suitable for the desert. 

Even with the bathroom door shut, she heard the stairs leading up to her room creak. Swearing under her breath, she reached for the cobalt colored silk robe hanging off the hook, gold designs of dwarven runes she couldn’t read lining the hem and bordering the sleeves. Her fingers twisted a knot into the sash while she glowered. 

“I _ told _ Leliana I would go get my own damn breakfast.” 

A heartbeat of silence, long enough for her to press fingers against soft, aged wood, before a whiskey-warm chuckle drifted from her bedroom. “Sorry, Princess. She didn’t loop me in.” 

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the brilliant smile she couldn’t control reflected in the bathroom mirror. She struggled to stuff it back where it came from, but the joy _ his _ voice inspired refused to be suppressed. 

Whatever she’d done last night, he came back for more, and that just made her want to kiss him _ again_. 

She opened the door, taking in Varric neatly placing a breakfast tray on her desk without rattling a single piece of porcelain. Notes of sweet and savory floated in the air with the bitter scent of coffee and made her stomach rumble traitorously. Varric grabbed the small metal pot on the tray, looking over his shoulder at the sound of her approach. 

His eyes lit on her face before dragging themselves down the silk clinging to her body like they had a mind of their own. They darkened just slightly when they reached the hem brushing the middle of her thigh before slowly climbing back up, Varric’s lips curling into a satisfied grin. “Has anyone told you how beautiful you are this fine morning?” 

Flirting with him on an empty stomach was a _terrible_ idea. He’d go straight to her head like the Maraas-Lok and leave her a hot mess. “Did you bring me food with that flattery?” 

“I’d never come empty handed.” He winked, pouring the steaming liquid into both of the mugs. Maria stepped closer until the scent of his aftershave became heady, bringing back the itchy feeling to start undoing all those buttons on his shirt again just to see if he'd let her. 

Varric worked with deft ease, no movement wasted, all of them serving a purpose. Even the way he snapped a cloth napkin open while cheerfully winking at her was just part of the show, the experience he wanted her to have. He didn’t stop until he picked up one of two small pitchers of cream, holding it in front of her critical gaze. He tipped his head to the side, lips twitching, before he upended the whole thing in one of the mugs. 

The action tore a laugh from her, one she quickly hid behind her hand, but it brought a grin to Varric’s face. He placed the empty container back on the tray and stepped away, waving to it with a flourish while he dropped into an elaborate bow. “Breakfast, my lady.”

Something about the way he played knight errant made her want to swoon right into his arms, giving into his game and demanding to repay him for his service with her less-than-pristine virtue. Instead, Maria stepped forward in imitation of a queen accepting a gift of gold and jewels, flicking her eyes over the offered meal. Mostly the same as what Bea brought, except Varric substituted the whole wheat toast and jam for a honey roll that smelled divine, and _ he _brought two plates worth with the obvious intention to stay awhile. 

If all that started her heart to fluttering, the flowers _ ruined _ her.

Bright white blooms, tied with a soft blue ribbon, beside her coffee called to something soft and tender inside her bruised heart. She plucked them from the tray, holding the makeshift bouquet carefully between her fingers. She lifted her eyes to meet Varric’s, pointedly raising one eyebrow. “Daisies?”

Varric’s grin danced in his eyes and made her weak in the knees. _ Damn him_. “Those are _ actually _ the finest Orlesian Marguerites money can buy, Inquisitor.” 

She returned his beaming smile with one of her own, helpless in the face of his sunny charm. “Pilfered from my garden?” 

“Pilfered from your garden.” He confirmed. “By a handsome scoundrel whom I will not name.” 

“You should point him out some time. I’ve got a thing for handsome scoundrels.” 

Her voice came out softer than she wanted, playing even more into the trope that she was a proper lady, although nothing could be farther from the truth. The white petals under her fingers felt like velvet, smooth as his voice dripping sweetness in her ear. She chanced a glance from beneath her lashes, taking in the way he watched her. 

He never watched her _ innocently_, nor did she really want him to. From the moment they met, there’d been a crackling tension beneath every glance, each jibe, all the times they’d touched. People could say what they wanted, and she was sure they would, but _ attraction _ simmered in the air between them since day one. 

Still, there was something new in his face. She’d caught a hint of it that first night in Crestwood, then again on the stairs the night they arrived back in Skyhold. Something intense lingered in Varric’s warm gaze, something personal and private. Something he wasn’t hiding, despite her giving him ample opportunity to do so. She didn’t know if that was frightening or exhilarating, but she couldn’t deal with it _ now_, on an empty stomach at any rate, which left her little choice but to deflect it away. “What’s all this gonna cost me, Varric?” 

His smile softened around the corners into something wistful. “For you, Princess? On the house.” 

Nothing ever came free, that’s what dad always said, but it was easier to ignore her ingrained cynicism with those damn flowers in her hand. “You may want to refresh my memory about what happened last night. Clearly I’ve made you _ very _ happy.” 

“Well…” Varric pulled the chair from behind the desk, gesturing for her to have a seat. “I’ve got it on good authority you took Harding for all she was worth at darts, downed a whole glass of Maraas-Lok without flinching, and I learned you’ve got a voice like Andraste herself. My next novel is practically writing itself, I may as well thank you properly.”

She relented and took the offered seat, letting him scoot her in, rolling her eyes at his effusive compliments. Like he couldn’t help himself, he brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, gently clearing the loose waves from her face. She looked up, measuring the expression on his face. “You gonna leave out the part where I made out with you in the staircase? That's bestseller material.” 

The flash of heat over his rugged features felt more familiar, but it didn’t quite erase that sudden depth in his eyes. He chuckled and withdrew, shaking his head. “I’m gonna keep that part of you to myself, beautiful.” 

She expected him to take his plate and perch himself in the armchair by the fireplace, but he picked his coffee up and leaned casually against the desk, in no hurry to leave her side. “You remember last night then? Hard to tell with Maraas-Lok, I’ve got some stories about that shit from Kirkwall.” 

“That’s why I left the bar. Can you imagine the scandal if I made out with Harding while dancing on a table?” Bad enough, really, that she'd apparently _sung_ for Varric. 

Much to her delight, he nearly choked on his coffee. She brought her own quickly to her lips, hiding her wicked smiled and widening her eyes in a portrait of innocence. Varric dabbed at his mouth with his sleeve. “Well. That’s one way to keep Ruffles occupied.” 

“So… I decided to take myself to bed.” Maria ripped part of the honey bun free and popped it between her lips, closing her eyes while the sweet dough dissolved on her tongue, rich with the heady taste of honey. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, silk robe slipping artfully an inch down her shoulder. She didn’t bother to shrug it back up. She opened her eyes to catch Varric eyeing her exposed skin like a fish trapped on a hook.

The victory sent coils of heat pulsing to her gut, so she capitalized on his faltering defense. Crossing her short, curvy legs at the knee meant the delicate robe rode up just a finger width, but the movement drew his burning eyes like she hoped it would.

She had _ fantasies _ about him and this desk, after all. It wasn’t one of those big human ones, like Cullen’s, but just the right height for her. And, coincidentally, the perfect height for Varric to fall to his knees between her thighs or shove everything off the top and take her, screaming for more, on the surface. Her flesh remembered the way it felt to have his mouth, his hands, driving her insane. Danger and time hadn’t dimmed the memory, it only made her weak for more. “I ran into _ you _ on the way back. I distinctly remember trying to get all those buttons undone, but it looks like I slept alone.” 

“Didn’t want you to wake up not knowing how I got in between your sheets.” Varric admitted. 

His words sent a jolt of something bright through her blood, something that made her smile widen. What a sap, an old romantic under all that chest hair, and stone take her if she wasn’t thrilled with it. He ripped his eyes away from the creamy skin of her thighs, but she wondered if he wasn’t praying for a hint of that tattoo he’d been so enamored with. 

“So you put me in bed and chivalrously retreated down the steps?” Maria teased, reaching up to play with the ends of her own hair, twisting the red strands between her fingers. 

“Actually…” Varric flicked his eyes to the armchair. “I slept here. In that _surprisingly_ comfortable chair.” 

Ancestors help her. The fingers twirling her hair froze and she looked up at him, shocked, while he nonchalantly took another sip of coffee. The liquid heat in her veins rose sharply to a fever pitch. He stayed, in a blighted armchair, _ all night_. 

“Why?” She blurted.

Varric grinned, just a hint of uncertainty blazing like neon at the corners where his skin crinkled, a sign of a life lived in laughter. “I thought I’d rather be here to help out if you got sick.” 

She blinked once. Twice. His eyes bored into hers until she pushed away from the desk and the breakfast she suddenly couldn’t care less about. Varric’s eyes darkened like he read her mind. 

“Princess, I’ve gotta warn you.” His voice, velvet soaked in gasoline on the edge of igniting, carried a note of warning. “I’m at the end of my rope. You do what I _ think _ you’re about to do, we’re not getting on that helicopter today. I don’t care if the Wardens are livestreaming blood magic rituals, I’m keeping you right here and taking my damn time.” 

_ Damn him._ She doubted they’d let her. Somebody would come looking. They’d be interrupted. Cullen had already gotten a good enough look at her naked _ once_. The world was in danger. She had a job that she hadn’t signed up for, but dammit if she was going to do it…

His searing gaze made her shiver. She licked her dry lips, unable to stop the dare in her mouth. “Promise?” 

Varric put his mug down, never looking away from her, reaching one hand out in silent offer. “For you, Maria, _ anything_.” 

Anything. When he said it, she believed him, which was probably a mistake. If anyone in Thedas lied as much as she did, it was probably Varric. That didn’t make it any harder to put her hand in his and drown in the wolf-like smile that earned her. 

“She said you can help.” 

They jumped away from each other like guilty teenagers, both of them swinging bewildered gazes to the lanky boy at the top of the steps beside the piano. Maria could still feel Varric’s pulse buzzing beneath her fingertips, his voice like whiskey in her belly. It took her a moment to focus on Cole, his shoulders hunched forward, a big shabby orange pillow clutched to his chest.

One that suddenly moved. 

“Kid, do I even wanna know?” Varric asked, amused and exasperated. 

Cole frowned and shifted the matted thing in his arms, causing a muted meow of protest. Upon closer inspection, Maria saw the creature was covered in powders and liquids in varying shades of neutral and jewel tones. It took her another second to recognize makeup. 

“Bea told me to keep him out of the paint, so I put him in her room. She’s not scared of things that hiss, cause she hisses _ louder_. But the bottles smell good, even Sera thinks so, smells like her, and he didn’t _ mean _ to make a mess but he was curious and she’s _ mad_. Bea is _ dangerous _ when she’s mad.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. “Is this _ the _ cat I keep hearing about?”

“The little girl with the pigtails calls him Pickles. He chased the jar and she laughed, then fed him bits of her sandwich.” Cole frowned, dipping his chin and holding the squirming cat out.

Varric scratched his jaw. “Where did you even find a stray up here?” 

“He found me. He bats at my feet.” Cole answered, pale eyes shimmering. 

Varric chuckled, like he too knew that they weren’t getting a better answer. “Alright, let’s see it.” 

Cole melded to her side immediately, dropping his burden on the desk. Only quick thinking from Varric saved the breakfast tray, dragging it out of the way of their feline visitor.

Maria looked into one stunning jade pupil, narrowed in feline displeasure. The other eye in the squished face remained resolutely shut, wicked scars running across it. The poor thing had notches in it’s ears where other animals had bit and clawed away the missing pieces of flesh. 

It’d have been right at home, with her, on the streets of Ostwick. The short tail, part of it surely missing, twitched in aggravation and Maria quickly grabbed a bite of bacon from her plate, tossing it in front of the orange survivor as a peace offering.

For a second, she thought Pickles would turn his nose up at the gesture. Instead, after a long, slow blink, he snatched the meat from polished wood. Maria quickly readied a second. 

“Princess, you’re not gonna keep that thing are you?” Varric shot the orange tabby a dismayed look. “I don’t know if cats can murder, but if any of them can…” 

“I’ve slept with larger, hairier things in my bed.” She smirked at Varric, batting her lashes while she tossed the second piece to her newest stray. 

He folded his arms over his broad chest, unwittingly drawing her eyes to all those damn buttons again. “That’s hurtful, Maria. After I brought you breakfast.” 

“And marguerites.” Cole added. “White like clouds against the sky, bright like _ her, _ maddening, majestic. The sun pouring from open palms when she descends. Lost in the ashes of her eyes. Some things are worth burning for.” 

They both stared at Cole, agape, before Maria spoke. “For fucks sake Cole, sometimes a flower is just a flower.”

Cole smiled, shy and uncertain. “Not this time.” 

“And on that fun note…” Varric pushed away from the desk. “I’ve gotta go pack. What does one wear to a desert full of blood witches?”

The moment was over, which was for the best. She’d have Varric, she _ needed _ to have Varric like she needed oxygen, but it could wait. They could do dashing heroics first. Again. 

She tried to ignore the part of her screaming in frustration. 

But she couldn’t ignore the part of her that ached watching him straighten and prepare to go. “Varric.” She chided, inclining her head to tray. “Last decent meal you’re gonna get for days, and you’re going to walk?” 

_ Stay_. She felt the word in her mouth, weak and desperate. Varric met her eyes, holding them for a moment. In the brief moment, she felt a small, furry head bump her outstretched fingers, and the soft vibration of a cat who felt rather pleased. 

Varric's eyes followed the sound, his smile curling before he resumed his perch leaning beside her. “Fair point, Princess, as always.” 

Maria turned away to hide the pleased triumph, looking back at the mangy stray on her desk, rumbling happily away, scratching behind the mangled ears. 

“Can I stay?” Cole shifted from one foot to another, twisting his shirt in his hands. “It’s nice here. Safe. Stones shifting into place. Singing.” 

“Nicest place in the whole castle.” Varric sighed, winking at her despite the martyred expression on his face. “Pull up the armchair kid.” 

Cole scrambled to follow the instructions and Varric leaned down to snatch his coffee back off the desk, going the extra inch to place a stubbled kiss on her cheek, one followed by the huff of laughter and the clinging, delicious scent of him. “Why is it always a circus with you?” 

“I think you’re into it.” Maria challenged, fighting the urge to lean in for more as he retreated. 

“Just a bit.” Varric admitted. 

Maria beamed, relaxing into her chair and grabbing her own coffee while she listened to the sound of Cole dragging the heavy chair across hardwood flooring. It may have been a circus, true, but…

_ It was hers. _

* * *

Varric carried the morning with him, replaying it from every angle, conjuring the sly tilt of Maria’s lips when she crossed her legs, the way the silk rustled when she moved. The urge to drop to the floor, throw those shapely legs over his shoulders, and see if she was wearing any underwear under that flimsy fabric had been near overwhelming. The fact he left _without_ compromising her desk deserved a damn medal. 

Someday, he was going to make that particular fantasy a reality, along with his threat to keep her in bed for a solid day while he bathed her in attention until she was hoarse and trembling, until the only word capable of falling from those plump lips was his name. He pinched his nose, hard, and kept walking. If he followed that thought much further, he’d never make it onto the damn helicopter himself.

He thought nothing could ruin his good mood, until he heard the aggravated shout of one clearly pissed off witch. 

“HAWKE!” 

Varric picked up his pace just as he made out the rather loud sound of someone pounding down a damn door. If anyone could throw a wrench in his morning, he supposed, it would be Hawke getting up to some kind of shenanigans. 

He was in such a good damn mood, he couldn’t even summon the proper irritation. 

“For _ fuck’s _ sake. HAWKE!”

Varric rounded the corner to find Chantal Amell just about vibrating with indignant fury while her elf smirked and watched, leaning against the stone wall fiddling with his phone.

Zevran threw him a cheerful wave just as Chantal kicked the door. 

“You’re looking quite refreshed, no?” Zevran raised his eyebrows. “As if one has spent the morning lingering over a beautiful woman?” 

Varric ignored the statement to ask his own question. “Problems, Warden?” 

“She was _ supposed _ to meet me to pack supplies, but of course she is AS UNRELIABLE AS EVER.” She punctuated the end of her sentence with another bruising punch against the wood. 

“Wouldn’t hit the castle if I were you, Giggles. It’s got a complex.” He gently brushed Chantal away from the door, taking her place. “You know Hawke doesn’t run on military time like you do. Or, really, any kind of time.” 

Which was why Varric didn’t bother knocking. He grabbed the handle and called through the wood while Chantal crossed her arms and glared. “Waffles, you alive in there? It’s your favorite dwarf.” 

No answer, _never_ a good sign. Varric considered his lockpicks, stuffed in the duffel he’d already started packing, but before he could make a firm decision to retrieve them the lock clicked open. He twisted the handle, throwing the door open and illuminating the cozy room they’d given Hawke. 

_Well, at one point it’d been cozy. _

Even with the morning sunlight streaming in, shadows clung to the corners. Hawke sat in one of them, folded up like a doll, knees to her torso amid the chaos of everything she’d brought with her and so much witchy nonsense his chest hair itched. As he watched, his Champion brought a cigarette to her lips with shaking hands and took another drag, the tip flaring orange before she silently exhaled far more smoke than she should have. 

Hawke had that look in her eyes, the one that made his stomach turn uneasily, like her blue eyes had fractured into a dozen different prisms. She stared, unseeing, into the smoke drifting towards the ceiling and Varric moved into the room, feeling very much like he’d entered a tiger’s lair. “You alright there, Hawke?” 

Chantal’s steps followed him into the room, just as wary, as he skirted the debris while cataloging it. Hawke's clothes, a knife. Some bundle of sharp smelling herbs scattered everywhere. The Champion of Kirkwall remained stubbornly silent.

“Hawke.” He called, firm and steady. “Come on back.” 

“The first time I kissed Fenris he had nightmares for weeks.” Hawke’s voice came out a rasp, she still didn’t look at him, eyes tracing the smoke rising up in the air.

Varric sighed and plucked the zippo from her left hand. “I know, Waffles.”

“I used to wake up in the middle of the night in the field. Drove my parents batty.” 

He frowned. This… was bad. One of the worst nights he’d seen Hawke have, and he’d seen some pretty bad ones. The mornings where she still seemed lost in her head, in the spiraling fractures of whatever she’d seen in the night? Yeah, that never meant anything good.

“Hawke, what does this mean?” All traces of irritation fled Chantal’s voice and Varric turned to see her waving at three cards spread face up on the pristine bed. Varric took in the damned ominous things, reading the rolling script underneath each face.

Two of Cups. The Devil. And then, upside down, the Nine of Swords. 

Hawke looked past him, past Chantal, staring into the ether with those crazed, splintered eyes of hers. “Two people, twined together into one. A shadow falls over them, the past crawling through cracks in the world, dragging them into the darkness. There are things there with too many legs, chains they can’t slip.” 

Hawke brought trembling fingers back to her lips, drew more smoke into her lungs before exhaling it. “They’re lost. Lost in a nightmare they can’t escape. It’s the only thing that could break them apart.” 

Cheerful as always. Varric shook his head, trying to clear the sudden horror throbbing in his skull. 

“Who?” Chantal asked. 

Hawke didn’t look away from the spot her eyes seared into, cigarette dangling from slim fingers. “Me. Fenris.” 

Which was why she didn’t bring the broody bastard, of course. Varric sighed again, but Hawke wasn’t done. Her eyes slipped from the empty spot to Chantal’s serious face. “You. Zevran.” 

The elf himself paused in the door, chirping happily, unable to see the lightning sparking to life in Chantal’s eyes. “Ah, you are talking of me? Is it about how handsome I am? I’ll wait for you to finish.” 

“Anyone else got the doom and gloom vibe going on, or is all coming up Amells and Hawkes?” Varric asked, weary. 

The silence that greeted his question was deafening. Varric watched Hawke shudder, her eyes falling closed. “I’m sorry Varric.” 

Varric’s stomach dropped, the plea escaping his lips immediately. “Don’t do this to me, Waffles.”

Hawke didn’t answer. The smoke curled around her head in the silence, and Varric swallowed the dread in his throat. 

_ Not them. Not now. _

“All of us?” Chantal asked softly. “All six of us are getting the _ same _ reading?” 

“Five.” Hawke insisted sharply. “I left Fenris behind so his would change.”

“Has it?” Varric asked. 

Hawke pressed her lips tightly together, giving him the only answer he needed. 

Six lovers. One calamity. 

“Into the abyss.” Hawke whispered, finally opening her eyes, the madness in them dimmed. “We’re going into the abyss. Maker help us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ADAMANT IS GOING TO BE A FUCKING SHITSHOW I'M SORRY_.

**Author's Note:**

> Modern Thedas! Gutter witches! Zippos as fuel for magic! An AI who stashes a copy of Hawke's grimoire on her server! Witch's familiars and curses! 
> 
> Oh hey I'm on tumblr now:
> 
> https://cartadwarfwithaheartofgold.tumblr.com


End file.
